Jedi Harris
by The Dark Scribbler
Summary: Xander goes for a rather different costume at Halloween. May the force be with him? Chapter 28 is here.
1. New beginnings

* * *

This little FanFic popped into my brain a while ago and, in the nature of all plot bunnies, gamboled and frolicked and made such a damn nuisance of itself that I eventually had to put it down on paper, so to speak. Why, I have no idea. I feel like Leonard of Quirm sometimes, I need to stop these musings popping into my head. Okay, disclaimers. I own nothing, I'm just taking the characters for a quick spin around what passes for my brain.  
  
(Here is the finally amended version of chapter one. Hope you enjoy it.)

* * *

**Jedi Harris**  
  
The dark-haired man stood back and looked up at the sign above the shop as he wiped his hands on the rags. His eyes glittered sardonically and he grinned.  
  
"Ah, genius is so under-appreciated in these unenlightened times," he said and then walked through the open door beneath the sign that read: 'Ethan's.' Once inside he looked around, the smile still on his face. Getting hold of the costumes hadn't been hard. He'd met an old customer of his, who'd been down on his luck and sufficiently desperate to accept help from him. Having him hack into the inventory of a large fancy dress shop chain and... 'divert'... a consignment of costumes in return for an orb of seduction and an introduction to a supermodel had been easy. He would have been happier with a wider selection, but the other consignment had been bought up and collected by a Yank from LA.  
  
His gaze fell on one of the robes and he moved the hem slightly to reveal the silver cylinder beneath it. "More grist for chaos's mill," he purred.

* * *

"Halloween," said Xander Harris, reflectively. "Ah, magic night of chocolaty over-indulgence. It brings back memories of manic twitching nights." He looked back at Buffy and Willow and then deflated slightly. "Of course, being forced to take a bunch of kids trick-or-treating by Snyder takes all the fun out of it."  
  
"Kinda," said Willow droopingly, looking around at the costumes that surrounded her. Then she brightened up. "But at least we get to dress up!"  
  
"Mmmm," said Buffy, "I kinda like Halloween. The joys of being weird and wild for a night." She grinned at Willow. "What's this place like then?"  
  
Willow shrugged. "It's very new. Nice choice of costumes though."  
  
The three wandered through the shop, looking at the costumes. As they did, Xander wondered why he was there. He didn't have the kind of cash that would allow him to hire a really good outfit for the night. There were a few that tempted him, like the one of the Flash, the blue Union colonel's uniform and the Batman costume. No, he already had his Halloween outfit, in the form of a set of fatigues that would allow him to appear as a soldier. All he needed was a weapon...  
  
As he wandered around the shop he paused. There was a gleam of silver to one side and he looked down to see a cylinder that was about 3 inches thick and 9 inches long, with switches down the side. Picking it up he looked at it. There was a hook on one end of it.  
  
"It's a prop," said a British voice to one side of him. "There's a rumour that it was used, I believe, on one of the Star Wars films. I've no idea which one, but it might have been the original Star Wars." A dark-haired man in his late 40's appeared to one side and smiled at him.  
  
Xander's brain boggled. A lightsabre? Wow, he'd seen the Star Wars Trilogy so many times that he could recite large chunks of it with his eyes closed. Then fiscal reality set back in.  
  
"I'm sorry," he said. "I don't have enough cash on me to hire that."  
  
The Brit quirked his lips. "I said it might have been. No one knows. It's just a rumour. Anyway, it is for hire - just for the night of course. $20 was the going price in LA, but I'm sure we can make a deal here..."

* * *

When the three left, Buffy was clutching an 18th Century dress, Willow had something in a plastic bag and a proud Xander was clutching his lightsabre. It was a lot better looking than the plastic lightsabre he had bought after he had seen Star Wars for the first time when he and Willow were kids. They'd both spent a large part of that summer playing with it, making loud 'Vmmm' noises before waving Xander's lightsabre around until finally the sadly-abused plastic end flew off and hit their neighbour's cat. His parents had publicly told him off for that, and had then privately bought him the biggest chocolate sundae he'd ever seen. The damn thing had been extremely good at doing its business at the foot of his mother's roses.  
  
The only problem that Xander faced was which Jedi to go as and it was this that was the tricky bit. "Luke?" he wondered aloud that afternoon. Nah. The kid was the kid, all blonde and impulsive and he wanted to go the other way, for the sunny hills of fake maturity. That left either Obi-Wan or Anakin. He shuddered at the thought of the latter. There was no way that he was going to tempt fate by appearing as an early version of Darth Vader. The Hellmouth was far too freaky a place to even think about that.  
  
So. Obi-Wan Kenobi it was. In his early days, of course. His early, unbearded days. Which just left the question of garb, as his army fatigues were obviously not the right part at all.  
  
Hunting through his closet he got lucky when he found his old dressing gown, which had been washed so many times that it had gone a sad off-white colour that matched an off-white old pair of jeans. With some boots to set it off (he honestly couldn't remember what kind of shoes Obi-Won had worn in the films) and the red-brown cowled robe that his mother had picked up in her student days during a trip to Morocco, and he had his costume. All that remained was a belt, from which he clipped his lightsabre.  
  
Looking at the overall effect in a mirror he had to admit that it wasn't bad.  
  
And the chances were that Willow was going as a ghost again, which meant that there would be a pretty odd collection of trick-or-treaters on the streets of Sunnydale.

* * *

Ethan Rayne was ready. He had closed the shop, assembled all the ingredients he needed for the spell and almost chuckled himself hoarse at the sheer amount of chaos he was going to inflict on this miserable town.  
  
He still wasn't sure quite why Ripper had settled here. It was possible that it was just the lure of the Hellmouth, although Ripper was now dear old fluffy where-did-I-put-my-cocoa Rupert. On the outside anyway. From one of his contacts he'd heard that the Slayer was in town, but that seemed unlikely. Besides the last time he'd heard mention of the Slayer she was in Jamaica.  
  
No, it was enough to start the ball rolling and start up chaos, a chaos augmented by the immense natural power of the Hellmouth. This was going to be fun.  
  
He started the ritual.

* * *

Walking around town with a number of pre-teenage kids on a Halloween candy hunt was not anyone's idea of fun. At all. But Willow found it all a kind of fun. It was kinda neat watching the reaction of the kids to the candy and it was even neater watching the way that people staggered back in mock- shock at some candy-smeared eight-year-old in a costume that started off neat and then, almost by magic, became disarranged.  
  
She looked around. Her group were collecting their candy from Mrs Shaplinski, who had retired from school a few years back and was probably quite glad not to be teaching any more. She was far too kind to be in the same school as Principal Snyder, who was just mean. Buffy, resplendent in her dress, was leading her crocodile of kids up the road towards them and Xander had his in a circle around him and was lecturing them on how to get yet more candy by looking sad and pathetic. Tears, she could see him saying were okay, but were the weapon of the last resort. By the eager way that the kids were nodding, she could see that the Harris School of Halloween Tricks had a new generation. Well, at least he looked quite the Jedi. Obi- Wan Kenobi himself, all long flowing robes and with the lightsabre clipped to his belt. Grinning she moved on.

* * *

"-Janus, Carpe Noctem!" The room shook slightly and a cold wind swept through, drying some of the sweat that was standing from his face. Something seemed to pass through him and the blood on his eyelids and hands burned for a second. He had the God's attention. "Showtime," he whispered, pleased.

* * *

A wind passed over Sunnydale, cold and yet hot at the same time, dry and wet, hungry and satiated. Something seemed to be looking down at the place, something that was hungry above anything else. The last priest of Janus had died one and a half millennia ago and since then the flame of his memory had been kept alight by dabblers, acolytes, madmen and the occasional true believer. Janus, the old Roman god whose Temple in Rome was now thronged with unbelieving tourists, who represented the door, or the opening, was happy with this night. He looked down and saw the marks on the costumes below him. The way was open for him. What a good joke. He breathed over the streets and chaos followed in his wake, as red paint became red skin, plastic became bone and masks became faces. They had chosen their costumes. They would become their costumes. Be careful what you wish for...

* * *

Willow came to her feet with a start. Her head hurt, she felt sick and her ghost costume had fallen off. She looked around and then almost fainted. There was a figure lying close to her feet, dressed in her ghost costume. Shaking all over she was about to bend down to check it out when she heard a long scream - and then another. More screams, shouts, snarls and what sounded like a howl in the distance.  
  
Her first thought was for Buffy, her second being for Xander. Xander! He was just standing in the middle of the road, staring around at the running people around him with a strangely calm look on his face.

* * *

This was certainly not Coruscant, thought Obi-Won Kenobi wryly. For one thing it was far too dark and primitive. Street lighting of some sort lit the scene around him and the road surface beneath him was made of some sort of crude chemical synthetic. The stars were wrong as well, he couldn't recognise a single pattern, let alone a single star. He put his hand to his chin and then looked down, startled for the first time. His beard was gone! He ran his hands over his face and frowned. This felt very wrong. His face felt... unfamiliar, he was stuck on a backwater planet that made Tatooine look like an industrial centre and... there were things around him.  
  
He paused and used the Force to sense the feel of the area. That felt wrong as well... he could detect human forms tainted by something else, not the dark side but something more primeval and chaotic. He sensed someone approaching from behind and he whirled, using the Force to propel his lightsabre into his hand. Then he relaxed. He sensed nothing dangerous coming from the person, although the sound of the familiar buzz as the blue blade extended itself might have been a touch comforting. He kept it deactivated though, as all he was sensing from the person was extreme worry. Instead he found himself looking into the eyes of a very startled- looking redheaded girl in a tight top that bared her midriff and a short skirt.  
  
"Whoa," she squeaked in a high voice, "Xander, how'dya do that?"  
  
Obi-Wan frowned. Here was yet another thing to add to the number of wrong things around him. She felt... odd. Half there, as if her mind was in front of him but her body was elsewhere.  
  
"I think you must have me confused with someone else, miss. I'm not a Xander, whatever that is. I'm not even sure where I am. Can I ask which planet I'm on and how far I am away from the Galactic Republic?" he said, frowning as something that was large and uncoordinated flapped overhead.  
  
"Xander, quit messing around and sounding all British, something majorly weird is going on here," she insisted, a frown of her own forming.  
  
"I'm sorry, but my name is Jedi Obi-Wan Kenobi, miss, not this Xander you keep going on about. I don't know who you are or where this place is, but I do suggest you find a place of safety, as I don't think that this is a very safe area. Something seems to be affecting the people around here and some of them are not exactly human. Tell me where you need to go and I'll escort you." Then he paused. That was a good point. They were all human, or almost human. He couldn't sense any aliens in the area. That was odd.  
  
There was a noise that was half-roar and half-bellow behind them and Kenobi turned to see something hairy walking towards them. It looked like a badly shaved dwarf Wookie but felt partly human, with that strange dark taint present again. Whatever Kenobi was about to do obviously alarmed the red- head, because she squeaked again: "No, Xander, Kenobi, whatever, there's a little kid in there. It's not a monster, that's a kid!"  
  
Pausing he shrugged and flicked an eyebrow. "Very well." There was a surge as he used the Force to propel the creature, whatever it was, ten metres back into a large bush, where it struggled for a brief moment before righting itself and then lurching off in a less dangerous direction, whilst roaring in a rather self-conscious way.  
  
Then he turned back to the redhead and snapped his lightsabre back onto his belt. "Can I ask if you have an explanation for all of this, miss?"  
  
She was still staring at the bush where he had propelled the creature before shaking her head and transferring the stare back to him. "Okay," she said, "Looks like Xander, but not quite Xander. I'm Willow. We need to find Buffy. Um, blond-haired girl – I mean brown tonight – and wearing a red dress and she's the Slayer... uh, a powerful warrior. And this is too freaky for words."  
  
As they wandered down the road, if it could be called that, the redhead babbled a great deal about needing the Slayer, whatever a Slayer was. Then he caught sight of a girl in a very odd mode of dress that fitted his companion's description. She was lying on some grass in front of a metal prong with a tube of some kind running from it. Every now and then it would whir and shoot water in a circle around it.  
  
"Buffy!" cried the redhead and, running forward, stretched her hand out to grasp the girl's hand, only for it to pass straight through her. She gaped at this and staggered. Kenobi raced up to her.  
  
"I sense that you aren't entirely there," he said tersely. "Now I need to know what's going on? What's happening?"  
  
"I don't know," she wailed, holding her hands up in front of her face and clasping and unclasping them. "I'm like..." She stopped dead and stared at him. "A ghost. I dressed... as a ghost... and you were dressed as Obi-Wan Kenobi, and Buffy..."  
  
There was a groan from ground level and Kenobi looked down distractedly. This made no sense. He had dressed as himself? And Willow, odd name, had dressed as a ghost? Everyone knew that ghosts were just myths, although the Mon Calamari told odd tales of ocean spirits that... he shook his head and calmed himself down. There had to be a good explanation to all this. It was just a question of asking the right questions and trusting in the Force.  
  
The brown-haired girl stirred and then opened terrified eyes. One look at the two people standing over her and she was scurrying backwards on her hands and feet, finally coming to rest against a bush.  
  
"Who are you people," she whimpered, "Where am I? This isn't Boston, there are strange things here... I was at the Colonel's mansion, and there was someone from the Black Watch and Quebec had fallen to General Wolfe and there was a celebration and... I was here. What is this place? Why does that thing squirt water? What was that metal moving carriage?"  
  
"Okay," said Willow, "Calm down. Your name is Buffy, and I am Willow and this is..." She hesitated and looked up at Kenobi. He sighed and bowed formally.  
  
"Jedi Knight Obi-Wan Kenobi, my lady, at your service."  
  
She perked up at this. "A knight? Such a strange name though, are you one of the Knights of the Order of St John?"  
  
He thought rapidly. The name meant nothing to him and he could not lie. But he could tell the truth from a certain point of view. "No, my Lady, I am from Coruscant. I do not think that you have heard of us here."  
  
Willow looked at the two of them and seemed to come to a decision. "Okay, we need to get to safety. Buffy's house – abode, place of residence or whatever. Follow me? Sheesh. Why couldn't she have dressed like Xena?"

* * *

The dwelling place was just as primitive as the street had been, but for the first time Kenobi had the chance to test the improbable theory that the redheaded girl – Willow – had told them. He looked into a mirror and for the first time that night almost lost control of himself. The face that looked back at him was that of a dark-haired young man, nothing like his own. Shocked he sank down on the chair behind the mirror and concentrated on the force. The words of old Master Yoda appeared in his mind; "Trust in the force, yes, in force and wrong you cannot be, yes, young Obi-Wan."  
  
"What has been done to me – to us?" he muttered, as he looked at the now almost hysterical young woman in the red dress as she gaped at the mirror and shrieked about not looking like she should. If he hadn't been told that she was a great warrior he would never have guessed, as she was currently doing a very good impression of a panicky teenager. Which is what she looked like.  
  
Willow turned around and looked at him. "I don't know, but I need to talk to Giles – he's a good guy, bit like..." she strained visibly for the right words before finding inspiration, "Our version of Yoda! But without the itty-bitty body and the greenness and the ears, and the grammar..." her voice wound down she he stared levelly at her. Then she turned back to the others, the recently arrived man who felt both wrong and yet right in the force, like light and darkness occupying the same place, and the selfish silly girl in the bizarre feline costume. "Okay. I'll go talk to Giles. Keep them here, keep them safe."  
  
Then she walked through the wall.  
  
Obi-Won stared for a moment and then sighed. Based on what she had said, it was turning out to be a long night. Then he paused and stared back at the man.  
  
"You're not human," he said levelly. The man – Angel, Willow had called him – gaped at him, while the other girl in the cat costume snorted and muttered something about Harris losing it completely before disappearing off to something called the bathroom.  
  
Angel looked at him. "You're dressed as a Jedi," he said doubtfully.  
  
"I am a Jedi," said Kenobi dryly as he walked up to the window and looked out, moving the odd hangings away from his line of sight. Something with horns on its head was walking up to the front door and he used the force to spin it round and propel it into a bush. He seemed to be doing that a lot tonight.  
  
Turning back he looked at this Angel creature. A figure of light seemed to be superimposed over some kind of creature, both trapped in a dead body. It felt odd just looking at him.  
  
"What are you?" He asked quietly.  
  
"A vampire with a soul," came the reply. "How can you be a Jedi, here?"  
  
He smiled. "The Force is the Force. It's an energy field that surrounds us and protects us, that binds the Universe together. It's all around us. It is us, although you put out an odd feeling in it my friend, an odd feeling." He held out his hand and his lightsabre snapped up into it. "We have company," he added grimly and the blue blade hummed into life.  
  
"Where's Buffy," asked Angel, and then things got very complicated. Something that was a vampire without being a real vampire was in the house, Buffy had vanished screaming into the night after seeing Angel's vampiric face and Obi-Wan Kenobi was running in search of her. He had to protect the innocent. Even if she had no idea who she really was. But he was a Jedi.

* * *

His chest was on fire, his cheekbone felt broken and two of his fingers were sticking out at odd angles. From his position on the floor Ethan Rayne spat out a gobbet of blood and smiled. "There's the Ripper I know," he said. A boot thudded into his right kidney and he hunched over it, retching. Rupert Giles leant over him.  
  
"I'm tired of asking this: how do you stop the spell?" he ground out between clenched teeth. "Ethan..."  
  
The tip of the boot came back again and Ethan realised that enough was enough.  
  
"Smash the idol!"

* * *

Spike was annoyed. He had the bitch of a slayer in the perfect position to kill her and then Harris turned up. A dark-haired little wanker who, by his clothes and his little sodding silver cylinder, thought he was a bloody Jedi. And he'd just strolled in here, with two of Spike's own minions following him and looking bloody baffled. Although he had to admit that his voice was impressively British upper class.  
  
The vampire sighed. "And what the bloody hell do you think you're doing, Harris?"  
  
There was a horrible buzzing noise as what looked to be a real lightsabre activated itself. "My name," said Harris, "Is not Harris but Obi-Wan Kenobi. From what I have been told, I'm just a guest here. But if you do not release her, I will have to kill you."  
  
There was a blur and Spike's now headless minions exploded into dust.  
  
Suddenly Spike's mouth felt very dry.  
  
"Oh bollocks."  
  
Back came the blue blade and then forwards and just before it hit him... it didn't. Instead he found himself looking at a very confused-looking Harris, who let out an "Eep," of fear, before springing backwards, still clutching what was a Star Wars prop and nothing else.  
  
"Gotcha," said Spike and then suddenly the Slayer was standing in front of him, her wig gone and her glare firmly in place.  
  
"Guess what?" She said sweetly, "Normal service has resumed."  
  
He ran.

* * *

Tidying up was turning out to be less of a nightmare than they had thought. Fortunately there hadn't been as many deaths as they had feared, although the sheer amount of fury that Buffy was feeling over being reduced to a crying 18th Century helpless unemancipated girl was impressive. Giles was also annoyed and frankly no one had suspected that the man had such hidden depths... not to mention such hidden darkness.  
  
For one person however, the night had brought a hidden problem. Xander Harris sat in a quiet part of the library and stared down at a pencil a few yards away from him on the floor. After a while it started to slowly move towards him, then accelerated up and smacked into his hand. He sighed. He could feel Obi-Won's knowledge, feel his mastery of the force. Damn it, he could feel the force on his own.  
  
He had a problem. 


	2. Fears and wonderings

Whoa, that has to be the most reviews I've ever had for a chapter! Thanks to everyone who responded, I had no idea that this little idea would attract so much praise. Okay, as you can see, it wasn't a one-off, I do have a plan about where this thing will go, even if some of the details are a bit sketchy. I have a bad habit of sketching things out on paper and then sitting down at my computer and then letting my muse possess my brain and ride roughshod over everything.  
  
The first chapter was a scene-setter, and I hope to get more into Xander's head more as this thing goes on, looking at what he is thinking about. Before anyone asks, Giles smashed the bust of Janus before Kenobi could give Spike the unkindest cut of all...  
  
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO  
  
Jedi Harris  
  
Xander Harris stood on the edge of the beach and stared out to sea, the waves pounding down onto the wet surface, running up the beach to crest by his feet and then ebbing back out with a sigh of clattering pebbles.  
  
He could tell that he was brooding again. This was not good, a brooding Xander was a serious Xander and a serious Xander was against the laws of nature.  
  
But the fact was that he couldn't help it. Halloween. That damn night more than a month ago. If it hadn't been for that freaky chaos mage, Ethan Rayne, then he would still have been good old normal, powerless Xander. But no, the Brit had turned up and launched that spell to turn his customers into their Halloween costumes.  
  
For most people there had been no, or almost no, side effects. Larry had kept saying "aaarrhh, Jim lad" for the first few days afterwards (until Snyder had booked him into a week of detentions), Willow had been surreptitiously testing the walls in case she could walk through things and Buffy had unexpectedly developed a love of tea and knowledge of Royal Doulton crockery, which had both confused and pleased her mother equally.  
  
Then there was Xander. Just to be different he had the knowledge and memories of Jedi Knight Obi-Won Kenobi jammed into his head, along with the ability to use the force.  
  
Strictly speaking, he thought wryly, he should have been pleased. After all, Buffy had her Slayer powers, Willow was quite the budding little witch and Giles seemed to have half the occult knowledge of the Western world in his head, with the other half, plus more global information, present in his bookshelves. Xander was rather handicapped in that he had nothing except his natural good looks and wit.  
  
Until now.  
  
His gaze went back out to the Pacific. Frankly his new knowledge both tempted and terrified him. The problem was that having the memories did not mean that he had the skill. His control over the force was spotty. Sometimes it was like trying to catch smoke, slipping through his fingers and curling away into nothingness. Other times it was there, wobbly and nebulous but there, just. His pen-floating abilities were growing slowly but surely.  
  
That was the problem. Sometimes his control was better when he was irritated or angry and, being a massive fan of the Star Wars films, he was very much afraid that at those times he was nudging close to the dark side.  
  
That was the thing that terrified him, that had brought the kind of nightmares where he would wake up in a tangle of sheets, covered in sweat and the harsh sound of mechanical breathing still loud in his ears.  
  
Willow knew that he was worried, knew that he had thrown up a protective shell around himself and... he sighed again. He seemed to be doing a lot of that recently. He had to act more normally, to resolve this thing before it tore him apart. He couldn't tell his friends about this, not yet.  
  
He needed a way to cope, a Jedi strategy, so to speak. The knowledge was all there in his head. Perhaps if he just set it down on paper. With the appropriate safeguards of course. Turning, he walked back up the beach to the spot where he had left the Xandermobile chained to a lamppost.  
  
Sitting his room a week later he realised that it was both easier and harder than he had first thought. He had pooled his allowance to buy a small, leather-covered book filled with blank pages and with a clasp to keep it closed. He'd also spent some time choosing a good-quality pen, one of the old-fashioned ink ones with a nib. He still had no idea why, but he had a vague memory of using something like this when he... or rather Obi-Won... had started out as a Padawan learner in the Jedi Temple. Something a lot more advanced, obviously, but the principle was the same.  
  
Sitting at his desk, which for once was not covered in clothes, CDs or soda bottles, he opened the book to the first page, took out the pen and stared down at it. That led to the problem of where to start. He took out a piece of foolscrap and jotted down a few thoughts, rejecting one after the other as he flipped through the knowledge in his head. After twenty minutes he threw down the pen in disgust. If he had just started to write what first came into his mind he'd end up with something that wandered from subject to subject aimlessly.  
  
Standing up he walked to the window and looked out over Sunnydale. The sun was starting to head down to the horizon, after which the local undead inhabitants would start to come out to play. He would be out on patrol tonight with the others.  
  
Turning back he tilted his head at the book. A memory of Yoda, standing on a landing bay overlooking Coruscant was tickling the back of his mind. "Do or do not," quoted Xander squeakily, "There is no try."  
  
He sat back down again. There had to be a way around this. Then he paused. Picking up the pen he closed his eyes and tried to feel the force flowing through him. It eluded him, staying beyond his grasp. Instead of getting irritated he persisted in calmly seeking the force, patiently waiting, breathing slowly... feeling the first quiver as his mind started to open to it...  
  
When he opened his eyes again he was rather startled to discover that the sun was on the horizon, that his hand was cramped and that the first 30 pages of the book were covered in writing. Not the standard western alphabet either, this was the curves and loops of Basic, the alphabet used in the Star Wars universe. He was even more startled to realise that firstly he understood it and secondly he appeared to have started to write a Jedi training manual, a sort of Jedi 101.  
  
Holding his breath he flipped through it. Training techniques, Jedi meditation therapies, the code of Jedi honour... it was incredibly detailed. And by the fact that it was marked 'Part One' there was more in his head. Sinking back in his chair he blew out his cheeks in a relieved sigh. His head felt different as well... not so much clearer as slightly more ordered.  
  
He grinned for the first time in what seemed like an age. "Well," he said, "It's a start." Picking up the book he walked over to his closet, opened it and placed it on a small ledge that overhung the door. He'd find a safer place for it later.  
  
It was time to patrol.  
  
===============================================================  
  
The next few months went quite quickly for the Scoobies. Giles's past caught up with him in a big way with the little matter of the Mark of Eyghon, the Order of Teraka arrived in town, along with a new Vampire Slayer, Buffy's mom dated a rather amoral robot and half the pupils in school, and their parents, were briefly possessed by a mind-controlling monster. And Xander and Cordelia, having saved each others lives, became almost civil to one another. Nothing quite like living on the Hellmouth.  
  
While all this was going on, the little book was filling up with careful instructions in Basic, a series of lessons, observations, notations and treatises on how to be a Jedi Knight. It was detailed, thorough and enough to make Xander realise that his current knowledge and understanding barely scratched the surface of what he needed to know to be a real Jedi.  
  
True, his control of the force was improving, slowly. He could feel it all the time now, sometimes more powerfully than others. His fears about the dark side were still there, but he was learning to control his temper, to be too passionate about things. He could, occasionally, sense things about people, if they were angry or upset. But although he was learning, it wasn't fast enough.  
  
This was a poser. If he carried on the way that he was going now, then he'd make it to Padawan in about ten years or so. What he needed was a dedicated training regime over several months in a place where he would not be distracted. He also needed training in sword fighting, as he knew the moves but lacked the knowledge of how to convert them into fighting without a lightsabre. The problem was that there a little matter of school. And his friends.  
  
He'd almost come clean a couple of times. He knew that Willow was still worried about him, as he was a lot less garrulous than he had been in the past. That was the other thing... he had to watch his mouth. There were occasions when he found himself using what he had termed his "Obi-Won" voice, a rather clipped British cadence that sounded like a cross between Giles and Oz. Speaking of Oz, there was something about Willow's new boyfriend that seemed familiar about him, an odd feeling in the force about him, like an odd echo...  
  
However, he had always been distracted from saying something to the others about his burgeoning powers, there had always been something else going on, the time had never been right. He really wished that he had been able to kill Spike on Halloween, before Giles had ended the spell and he had reverted to normal. Such was life, however and it was no use blaming the force.  
  
But he had never been able to tell anyone else about what was going on.  
  
All that changed when Drusilla started to assemble the pieces of The Judge. Hell, everything had changed over those horrible few days. Angel had lost his soul and reverted back to the merciless thing that was Angelus, which had gone on to murder Jenny Calendar. Buffy had come close to losing it completely, for reasons that he could make a good stab at guessing at.  
  
True, they had been able to destroy The Judge thanks to a chance remark by Cordelia that the last time that the demon had been vanquished mankind was still shaving with big knives and hitting each other on the head with lumps of metal. Giles had emitted a string of 'good lord's over that little unrevelation and they had been able to blow The Judge into his constituent pieces with the aid of six sticks of dynamite that they'd been able to find on a building site near the area. However, the fact remained that it was, at best, a 1-1 draw, to use Giles's words.  
  
After that, Xander realised, he needed to tell the best person about his little secret.  
  
Rupert Giles walked into the school library grimly, his eyes flickering automatically to the shadows of the main room. Although he had warded the main library doors with a little spell that should repel vampires, it was better to be safe than sorry. He thought for a second about Jenny and then ruthlessly forced himself away from that terrible, raw, pain in his mind.  
  
Then he paused. Someone was there, in the shadows by the stairs to the bookshelves. Feeling the reassuring shape of the emergency stake he now always kept up his right sleeve he walked slowly forwards, keeping the table between him and the shape.  
  
"Hello?" he asked. "Who's there?"  
  
The figure looked up and Giles was relieved to see that it was Xander. The teenager closed a small book that he had been writing into, pushed it into an inside pocket and then stood up.  
  
Walking forwards he looked at Giles and with a start the Englishman realised that Xander appeared a lot older than his years today.  
  
"Rupert," he said in that clipped, almost British, accent that he now tended to use in times of stress, "We need to talk." 


	3. Explanations

Wow more reviews! Most good, but some constructive criticism here and there as well, which is always welcomed. At some point in the future I'm going to go back over Part 1 and rewrite it, making it longer and more detailed. Part 2 was more on the lines of what I was looking to do in the first place, but again I'm going to revise it a tad. I'm still planning the ongoing plot, but there is a specific direction I'm going to take this thing in, as well as a spin-off for a possible second crossover. More on that when I've finished this though. I'd better clarify a few things. Xander is still sorting through the memories in his head, but the Obi-Wan in his head is a bit older that the character was in Attack of the Clones but far younger than the Ben Kenobi from A New Hope. So although still a Jedi Knight, he's close to being a Jedi Master but there are still hints of the younger Obi-Wan still there. The other thing is why I'm writing this thing at all. Like I said this thing just popped into my mind a few months back and I've been pondering over it ever since. I, personally, think that there is a good natural fit between Xander and the prospect of a Jedi Knight in Sunnydale. Xander is levelheaded, sensible (under the banter) and acts as a valuable source of strength for Buffy. I've always thought that being a Jedi wasn't just about the lightsabre and the party tricks, but also about being a source of stability and a fair way of dispensing justice. If you look at the Xander that had emerged by Season 7, that's pretty close to what he was there. And the poor sod gets to keep his eye. By the way, before anyone asks about my British spelling, it's because I'm British. So there. Oh and there's a very good reason why he approaches Giles and not Willow, his bestest bud. Read on and see what...  
  
==========================================================  
  
Giles was quite glad of the opportunity to talk to Xander; the previous night young Willow had practically begged him to talk to him and her deployment of what appeared to be improbably large and soulful eyes finally wore down his defences.  
  
When he had asked what, exactly, was wrong with her old friend all he had received was a string of spluttering noises and the indignant assertion that 'wasn't it obvious? He's not being like Xander!' along with a pair of eyes that became even more soulful, if such a thing was possible.  
  
Sitting at the table and looking at the teenager's face, he had to concede that she had a point. The most irreverent and, apparently, humourous of Buffy's friends was being far more serious than normal. Giles thought back to the book that Xander had been writing in a few minutes earlier. Now he came to think of it, he did recall Willow saying that she'd seen him writing into something when he'd thought that no one was watching.  
  
At the moment though Xander was busy staring down at the table, obviously deep in thought and Giles was about to gently prompt him into saying something when he suddenly sat back in his chair and looked across at the Watcher.  
  
"Giles, we didn't meet during Halloween," he said softly, "But I think that Willow told you what happened to me."  
  
Giles nodded and pushed his glasses onto a more secure position on the bridge of his nose. "Indeed, yes, she... she said that you were possessed by the character of Obi-Wan Kenobi," he said, "Which must have been quite... interesting. I am not a total idiot when it comes to popular culture, Xander so I do know who the character was in the films."  
  
The teenager grinned briefly at him and then a more sombre expression settled back over his face.  
  
"Yes but what Willow didn't tell you – because she doesn't know – is that you may have broken the spell that night, but something was left behind. Knowledge."  
  
Intrigued Giles leant forwards. "Knowledge of what, Xander?" he asked, his forehead wrinkling.  
  
Xander let out a sigh and then looked around the room. "I think an explanation would take too much time, so a demonstration will have to do." He pointed at the counter. "Is that your pen over there?"  
  
Twisting in his seat, Giles glanced over to where the old pen that his father had bought him for his 21st birthday was resting on top of a battered copy of the Mabinogion. "Uh, yes," he said puzzled, before turning back.  
  
Across the table the teenager had half-closed his eyes and was staring very hard at the counter, his fists half clenched. A few seconds later an alarmed Giles noticed that Xander's face had beaded slightly with sweat.  
  
"Are you feeling... alright Xander?" he asked tentatively and then suddenly he saw a flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye and snapped his head around towards it. To his total astonishment his pen was slowly moving through the air towards him. It wasn't moving fast at all, and to call it swooping would have been a gross overstatement. Instead it was wobbling like an inebriated duck, but it was approaching him.  
  
As it came closer he heard Xander say, in a rather strained voice, to take it, and he reached out and plucked it out of the air. His pen felt... well, perfectly normal and out of sheer reflex he placed it in his inside pocket and turned hurriedly back to Xander, who was looking tired but pleased.  
  
"How on earth... that was no form of magic I've ever seen," the Watcher breathed.  
  
Xander shrugged. "Giles, that was the force and I have _no_ idea how you'd classify it. I could have moved it a lot faster, but my control isn't 100% yet and I didn't want Buffy asking awkward questions if I'd got it wrong and imbedded it in your head by mistake."  
  
He slumped in his seat slightly. "Like I said, some knowledge got left behind. I say some, but I actually mean a lot. Giles, I can feel the force, use the force. And it's not something I can ignore."  
  
"Good lord," breathed a stunned Giles, taking off his glasses and polishing them absent-mindedly. "And... and... you can move things with your... mind, using the force?"  
  
"You got it."  
  
"How exactly? I mean how can you use..." He struggled for the right words and failed, "some mystical concept from a series of films in this world? It shouldn't be possible!"  
  
In response Xander gave another shrug. "You got me. You're the expert on the Hellmouth."  
  
This earned him a glare. "This is hardly a normal occurrence, even for the Hellmouth! Although I suppose that it's possible that... that is you were so deeply into the character that Ethan's spell would have... did it leave anything else?"  
  
Pausing, Xander took a deep breath. "Memories, for one thing. I remember doing things, going to places, other planets, other people. I know that George Lucas only scratched the surface of the number of aliens he could put in the film."  
  
By now Giles was almost gaping at him. "Memories?" he breathed. "I really should have... interrogated... Ethan more thoroughly about the spell that he used. Memories, I mean detailed memories – shouldn't be possible." Then he looked back up at Xander. "Anything else?"  
  
"Yes," came the response, but it was followed by a pause. Then he slowly reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulled out the book that he had been writing in earlier. Weighing it on the palm of his hand for a long moment he finally placed it on the table.  
  
"Giles, I... I didn't know what to do at first. I kind of hoped that everything would fade, like it did after I was possessed by that Hyena last year. But it didn't. It stayed there in my head and I was... confused. It wasn't until I started to write things down-" He looked up quickly and, opening the book, he thrust it across the table before Giles could explode with shock, "-and before you go nuts, take a look at what I've written down."  
  
Swallowing his annoyance at the stupidity of writing down force-related information on the Hellmouth, Giles bent his head and looked at the opened book. Then he flipped forwards a few pages. Then a few pages more, to where there was an impressively detailed circuit diagram for some form of device. Finally he flipped to yet another random page, turned the book slowly around 360 degrees so that he could the script from all angles and then looked back up dazedly. "I have no idea what language this is written in," he breathed.  
  
For a second the old Xander showed as a smug grin appeared across the table. "It's written in English, Giles, but the script is Basic, the alphabet used in the Star Wars universe. Maybe a total Star Wars nut job could read it, but for anyone else it's gibberish." The grin faded. "It's Jedi 101. The care and propagation of a Jedi. At first I had to access the force to gain entry to the knowledge there, but now I can pull it out almost at will, as long as I focus on it properly. It's not quite finished yet, but you could use the information there to train someone in how to use the force. Train them to be a Jedi."  
  
"Good lord," said Giles and then flipped through the pages again carefully. Although he had no idea what the writing said, he could see at once that it seemed to be carefully ordered, with underlined headings and sub-headings, along with what looked like an odd alien variation of a bullet point. "So you can access all this information and... do what Obi-Wan could do?"  
  
Xander grimaced. "Not quite. Having access to the memories isn't like being able to understand the information. I guess it's like looking at sheet music. I can read the notes but I can't whistle the tune." Then he pointed at the book. "But what's set out in that could be enough to let me in on the secret properly."  
  
"You mean?"  
  
"Become a Jedi. I think. If I wanted."  
  
Giles looked at Xander over the upper rims of his glasses. "If you wanted?" he repeated. The... Giles realised with a start that he had to stop referring to Xander as a teenager, when he seemed to have had a crushing weight of years suddenly thrust upon him... the man sitting opposite looked down at the table again.  
  
After a while he found voice again. "Giles, Buffy and Willow don't know about this. I think that they have enough to worry about, especially now that Deadboy is Killer Deadboy. I came to you first because I need your advice."  
  
His eyebrows went up at that. "You... you need my advice? Why me?"  
  
Their eyes met and then Xander cleared his throat. "I want to know how to avoid the dark side. How to keep..." his hands clenched and unclenched, "The anger away, the darkness. I need to know how you stay Rupert instead of Ripper. The last thing that this place needs is for me to turn into Vader and start choking people to death every time I get a parking ticket or something."  
  
He leant forwards in his chair and a tone of real desperation entered his voice. "Giles, I have all this knowledge and possibly power, and I don't want to screw it up, I mean it, I don't want to head off down some dark path that leads to me wearing black armour or grey suits and stroking a white cat or something. This thing is huge and I want to do what's right."  
  
For the first time since the entire conversation had started Giles felt the beginnings of relief and he allowed a small smile to steal over his face.  
  
Clearing his throat he reached over and patted Xander on the shoulder. "The very fact that you are worried about the possible... effects of this thing is a good sign Xander, because it means that you have thought about the potential repercussions. Far too many people would grab the power first and worry about the negative points afterwards. Bearing in mind what might happen if you lose control should help you stay on the path. And I can give you some advice about not giving in to the temptations of power." He grimaced, remembering some of the nastier events of his own youth. Frankly, if he had obtained access to the same kind of information that Xander now had at the same age, he probably would have done something quite foolish with it.  
  
"As long as you do have a path in mind, that is."  
  
Xander flicked an eyebrow upward and picked the book back up. "Well, part of a plan. I've been planning a road trip this summer. Instead I'm going to ask my Uncle Will – you've never heard of him, he's the white sheep of the family – if I can borrow his hunting lodge near Victorville close to the Mojave Desert for the summer instead. I need somewhere isolated to train. If I can, I might be able to put in enough intensive training to make it. Maybe.  
  
"Other thing is, I need some more help from you. One thing is meditation. This damn book seems to take it for granted that Jedi Padawan – learners – already know how to meditate. I can half-meditate – I had to in order to gain access to the force. But the full Monty still eludes me, and I have got to stop sounding like a Brit!"  
  
Giles smiled. "That shouldn't be a problem at all. At least with the first item on your agenda. Anything else?"  
  
"Yes, I need swordfighting lessons."  
  
The Watcher blinked at this. "I... I thought that, well, as the whole Jedi thing was in your head that-"  
  
"-Swordfighting would come naturally? Nope, I haven't got the muscles for one thing. And for another, the memories are of using a lightsabre, which would cut through anything apart from another lightsabre. If you try using a sword like a lightsabre I imagine you'd end up with a hunk of battered metal at the end of the day. Can you help me? And keep it from the others, at least until I know I can control this thing?"  
  
Pursing his lips Giles looked across the library for a long moment. Then he reached out his hand.  
  
"Done. We'll see what happens, but thank you for coming to me."  
  
The two shook on it and for the first time in months Xander felt a little of the weight on his shoulders lift. Alright. Time to go to work. 


	4. The price of winning

I'd like to say thanks a ton for all the reviews I've received so far – this FanFic is on a roll and I mean to keep it on that roll!  
  
Apologies for the delay in continuing this story, but I've only just returned to London after covering a conference in Romania, as if I needed a place to channel thoughts of vampires. Great place, nice people, lousy roads, internet connections permanently screwed up or engaged. Now that I'm back I need to sleep for a week.

* * *

By the third week Xander had a very good idea how hard it was to train in complete secrecy. Frankly he was amazed that Buffy had been able to do as much as she had over a longer time period. There was the distraction of school, of parents, of friends and of general slayage, or whatever the term was.  
  
But he had made some progress under a carefully woven screen of re- Xanderisation to throw Willow off the scent. Thanks to Giles he now had a good idea of how to meditate and their initial sessions of swordplay had been, to use the Watcher's phrase, most productive.  
  
He had also been able to deepen his knowledge of the force, albeit – he kept finding himself using these damn Giles-like words – at only a slightly faster rate than before. This had been both good and bad. The good point had been the fact that he was increasingly able to sense vampires. Said vamps, being dead, tended to leave a hole in the force where a living being would normally be, plus a freaky feeling caused by the demon within, which the force couldn't classify. Combined, this meant that he could sense where a vampire was, which was always good.  
  
The bad side first appeared in school after a member of the Sunnydale High's champion swimming team had walked by. Xander had felt... something that he couldn't even start to describe, as if a cold animal was walking around with a normal body around it, an animal that was growing as the latter waned, more than a twisting of the natural force in them but a wrenching, a vileness...  
  
He had turned pale, dived into the nearest men's toilets and been violently sick, more from reaction than anything else.  
  
Two nights later Todd McAlvrey, one of the best members of the swim team, died in a particularly horrific way, leaving nothing more than a sloughed off skin. There had to be a connection between the vilness and the death and he'd immediately told Giles, who had tut-tutted a great deal, polished his glasses until they almost had a hole in them and then carefully questioned Xander about exactly what he was feeling from the force when it came to the swimming team.  
  
"Fascinating," he breathed after Xander stopped speaking. "But, but, you have no idea what caused this, this _wrong_ feeling?"  
  
Giving a helpless shrug Xander got up and walked over to the desk. "Most of them have it," he muttered. "Some more strongly than others. Tom Ellison just feels slightly strange, but Cameron Walker – I want to hurl every time he walks past. Something feels very wrong about them, I don't know what."  
  
"Given the ability of some people to dabble in things that they know nothing about, I can think of a, of a few possibilities," mused Giles. "It might be that they have been tainted by a spell, or they might have linked themselves to a demon, sacrificing something to it in return for success, only for that demon to want something back. But why eat their internal organs and skeleton and not the skin and cartilage? I don't recall that the swimming team had anything like the same run of victories last year. I do wish people would think about these things. Magic always comes at a price and it tends to be a steep one, like those fellows at that fraternity found out a few months ago.  
  
"I think we should inform the others of this line of speculation, keeping your sensing abilities out of it, of course. Buffy was at the beach last night when this poor fellow was killed, so she's already looking into it. And given your... nausea around these people, I think that it makes sense to keep you away from them unless we can help it. In the meantime," and here his eyes brightened, "there are a number of books we can consult to find out if there is any kind of demon that exhibits that kind of behaviour." Xander nodded sombrely. They had a long day ahead of them.  
  
A long day of research was not the most fun way to spend your time, reflected Xander as he walked down the hall towards the drinks dispenser late that night. He needed a drink before he went home, Willow having left with Oz, while Buffy talked to Giles about her patrol route that night. The net result of what they had discovered so far could be summarised in one word: nada.  
  
Pausing to stretch until something in his spine went crack, he frowned and looked along the hall. Tentatively he stretched out with the force, only to wince with disgust. Cameron Walker was walking down the hallway towards him and the feeling of wrongness that he was generating in the force almost swamped Xander's head with its vileness.  
  
The swimmer paused as he caught sight of Xander and then sneered. "Something, wrong, Harris? What's a loser like you doing here?"  
  
Xander forced his face to look relaxed and clenched his stomach muscles to stop his gorge from rising.  
  
"Researching in the library, Cameron. Oh yeah, that's right, you wouldn't know what that is. It's the big place with the papery things that have words with more than one syllable written in them," he said, trying to stay flippant.  
  
Cameron scowled and then winced at the pain of the cut on his nose from his earlier attempt to manhandle Buffy. Then he kept walking as he scratched his chest absently. "Why am I talking to a loser like you? You're lucky I'm hungry."  
  
"Cafeteria's closed," said Xander. The vile feeling that Cameron was creating in the force was strengthening, if such a thing was possible.  
  
"Not to me," came the reply as the swimmer moved off.  
  
Xander sighed in relief and then frowned. He still didn't understand just what it was about the swimmers that was making him so nauseous. Perhaps a few questions, on more subtle lines than "which demon have you sold your soul/body/someone else's body/pet cat to" might lead to some answers. Gritting his teeth he walked after Cameron.  
  
As he walked in to the room, Cameron had stopped dead, with his back to Xander, and was sniffing the air. "What the hell is that?" he muttered and then the smell hit Xander's nose as well, a foul, rotten odour that felt... like the vileness in the force that he had been feeling.  
  
He was about to mention something when Cameron suddenly started scratch his chest again, more violently this time. Then he looked down and screamed, a sound of horror and pain and sheer terror. Something was happening to his back, there was a rippling movement under the shirt and suddenly Xander wanted to be sick again, because something was emerging from Cameron, something was pushing through great rents that had appeared in his skin. Something monstrous.  
  
Watching the process of a monster emerging from what had, until a few moments ago been a perfectly normal human being, was rather a shock, especially the sheer unpleasantness of said process. And oddly once that process was over and the half-fish half-god-only-knew thing was standing there in the remains of Cameron's skin, the vile feeling in the force that had been oppressing Xander vanished, as if a conflict between human and animal had been fought and won by the monster and he could only feel the monster.  
  
For a second he wanted to sigh in relief. Then the thing made a horrible roaring noise and Xander realised that he was still in deep trouble.  
  
He still had a handful of change in his hand from the abortive effort to get a drink and now he then threw it straight in its face and ran like hell while it was still making confused roaring noises.  
  
Although running was a good choice and he zipped along two corridors and up one set of stairs, when he realised that the thing seemed to have lost him he quickly slowed down, thinking furiously. On the one hand, there was no icky monster eating the swimming team from the inside out. On the other certain members of the swimming team were the icky monsters due to reasons or persons unknown.  
  
However, two things were clear. First that he had to make sure that no-one was hurt by the thing that was now wandering the corridors of the high school. Not even Snyder deserved that. The second was that Buffy and Giles had to know about this as soon as possible. Xander paused. Up until a while ago he would have reversed those two items. Whatever he was now, and he certainly wasn't even a Padawan, the Jedi Code was more important to him than he had thought. The safety of innocent people was paramount.  
  
He turned, wondering what the hell he was doing, and re-entered the building. As it happened he soon found out that the thing had also left the building, after upending a vending machine, ripping several chairs apart and eating all the fish in the small aquarium in the biology lab. This was probably a good thing, as in Xanders' admittedly somewhat limited experience, hungry monster = dead humans. What was also significant was the fact that it had broken down a door on the side of the school that led to the sea, and had then torn open a manhole cover to the storm drain system, which also led to the great blue Pacific and which presumably was about to get a nasty shock.  
  
Sighing, Xander backed away from the manhole and walked off. He had to find the others.  
  
This was easier said than done. The library, where the Watcher was normally to be found, was dark and empty and the six cemeteries that Xander knew to be on Buffy's patrol route were all quiet and peaceful, although judging by the sad little pile of dust on the grass next to a hole in the ground, it looked like one fledgling vampire had gone out of the vampiring world almost as fast as it had come in. Buffy had obviously moved on.  
  
There was one other place he could try, but as he walked down the road past a series of small buildings that led to the other cemetery on Buffy's patrol path he suddenly realised that he wasn't alone.  
  
Continuing to walk he stretched out with the force, trying to locate the other person out there, trying to get a feel for who was there. Or rather what. Then he realised who it was and the knowledge caused a great wave of hatred and dread to wash over him. He forced it down. Now wasn't a good time to panic. At the same time it wasn't any time to feel the pull of the dark side. Displaying a calm that he forced himself to feel, he stopped dead next to a streetlight and looked back into the darkness of the other side of the street.  
  
"Angelus," he said coldly. "Out for some fast food?"  
  
There was a surprised chuckle from the shadows and the vampire strolled out. "Not bad, Harris," he murmured and then took out a pack of cigarettes. "You've been practicing the few skills you have."  
  
"Oh, you'd be surprised at the things I've picked up lately," replied Xander, still forcing that artificial calm over himself. Now was the time... but the force remained just out of reach, blocked by the fear he was feeling despite himself. Not fear, anything but that. Fear led to anger and anger led to the dark side, although Master Yoda had never had to deal with a vampire. Keep him talking, he thought, keep him talking and keep trying for the light side of the force. You can do this, just relax and let it go...  
  
"Speaking of which," he extemporised, "Have you seen a large fish-like demon around the place? It's just that the swimming team appears to be turning into monsters, creating some new inhabitants of Sunnydale that even you should be scared of."  
  
Angelus shook his head and then lit up a cigarette. "Demons - seen one, seen 'em all. Even if there's something around here then there's nothing for me to be bothered about. You, I imagine," and he smiled mockingly and blew out the smoke, "Would have a problem however. Might be fun to watch, though, for the five seconds that it would take to rip your head off."  
  
The amount of arrogant superiority that the vampire was putting out was astonishing but to his own surprise Xander didn't feel the anger that he might have. Oh, it was there, in the back of his head, but the more that he pushed the fear away, the clearer everything became. He tried to use the force again, but failed by a hairs' breadth. I can do this, he thought, letting the almost glacial calm settle over him, bringing him closer and closer to the force, I can access the light side of the force here, my life is in real danger, but I can do this. This is a chance to beat the dark side...  
  
Angelus also seemed to sense that things were not going as he had planned, due to the apparent lack of fear, panic and hesitation in Harris. He strolled a few paces closer.  
  
"No," said the vampire, "Instead of letting some monster chomp on your entrails, I'm going to use you to send a message to darling Buffy," he smirked.  
  
"What's the message?"  
  
"Why that was a really dumb question, your messily dead body will be the message of course. I'm going to send the Slayer some little presents in the form of the dead bodies of all her friends, as a token of my undying love." Angelus grinned again and then put his game face on. "Starting with the weakest, the... what's the word? The Zeppo, that's it, the useless little hanger on."  
  
Xander tried again and this time, still enveloped in the calmness that had allowed him to push away the fear and anger that led to the dark side, he was able to reach out and touch the force. He then allowed himself to smile for the first time.  
  
"I'm not the easy meal you think I am," he said with what he knew was his Obi-Wan voice.  
  
"Oh come on!" exclaimed Angelus as he flipped his half-smoked cigarette away in a trail of sparks that Xander did not allow himself to be distracted by. "What can you possibly do, Harris? No slayer around to hide behind, no watcher to give you pompous advice, although you do sound more and more like the old Brit. No," and he smiled again. "I get to play with you. You get to die."  
  
Xander fixed the vampire with a steady gaze, but his mind was firmly fixed on a three-foot long steel rod that had been welded sloppily onto a railing behind the vampire. He felt the way that the rod existed in the world, the way that the force surrounded it and gave an experimental tug with his mind. The rod moved slightly and he tried again, making it move a bit more as the crude weld started to fail. This was the largest thing that he had ever moved using the force so far and the strain was immense as he felt the sweat start to stand out on his face.  
  
"I'm not afraid of you," he said out loud, to cover the noise that the rod was making. "Oh, dear," mocked the vampire before him. "Is that a sad little lie I hear from the sweaty little guy in front of me?"  
  
"Not really, no," replied Xander and at that moment the rod separated from the railing with a loud crack and hurtled towards Angelus. The vampire heard the noise and was half-turning to look, but couldn't move fast enough to stop it from going right through his chest and half-way out of his back, leaving him impaled.  
  
Angelus gave a choked cry of anger and pain and it was then that Xander drew on the force more deeply than he had done in the past, using it all in a force leap straight up more than 15 feet, to land on the top of the streetlight next to him and then jumping for the safety of the roof of a nearby building. It was close, he almost missed the lip of the parapet around the roof, but he was there and he immediately forced his body to remain motionless to escape any movement that might get caught by the vampire's acute peripheral vision. As long he stayed completely still...  
  
Down on the street Angelus had just pulled the rod out of his chest and was cursing and snarling, his shirt covered in blood and his face drawn in anguish.  
  
"I'm going to pull your lungs out and make you eat them, slayer!" he screamed and Xander realised that the vampire thought that he had been ambushed by Buffy.  
  
Angelus threw down the rod and looked around wrathfully, but the street was silent. No Buffy. No Harris for that matter, and Angelus couldn't remember the pathetic human running. Confused he span around again, using his vision, smell and hearing to try to locate him. Xander forced his breathing down still further, remaining in the grip of the force, relaxing almost into meditation. Slow, even breaths, he thought, marvelling at how the fear and anger had now totally disappeared in his first real victory against the dark side, idly noticing that the wind was luckily blowing in his favour.  
  
Still snarling, Angelus stalked up and down the street for what to Xander seemed forever, looking in every direction but up, before finally, reluctantly, moving off, now clutching his chest, where the blood was still trickling from the gaping wound. "This isn't over, Zeppo! Man, you hide well. That all you're good for now, hiding, you little prick? And wherever you came from, Buffy baby, you know that there's going to be payback for this!" Then he cursed again and walked off.  
  
Xander resisted the temptation to let out a sigh of relief, but instead remained where he was until the vampire vanished up the street and then waited another ten minutes just to be sure. Then he relaxed, releasing the force and almost collapsing from sheer reaction as his heart decided to race like mad to pump the adrenalin that his body belatedly decided was necessary. Trembling in every limb he sat down and ran his hands through his hair. Not bad. He'd faced off Deadboy. Shame the rod had been metal instead of wood, but he had been amazed that his aim had been good enough to hit the vampire at all.  
  
Well, it was a good start. He was even more amazed that he had been able to use the force as well as he had. Sighing, he straightened up. Then he looked down. The ground was a good 20 feet away.  
  
"Oh nuts," he muttered. "Outsmarted myself again." 


	5. The start of Becoming

Wow, more reviews! Thanks for the support; it really has encouraged me to press on with this thing as much as possible. This is really going to be a short stop gap chapter, setting the scene as it were, as I need to get to work properly on the next one, detailing Xander's reactions to the bulk of the 'Becoming' episodes, which I am determined to get right. No spoilers, no spoilers, but they will shift things slightly from canon. I emphasize the word 'slightly'.  
  
Oh damn, disclaimers: I don't own the characters, but I bow before the mighty god that is Joss Whedon.

* * *

The corridor that led to the library was dark, although not dark enough for the posters and notices on the boards on the walls to be unreadable. One was an announcement from the new coach that trials for the new swim team would be on Friday, with a space beneath it for people to sign up for it. So far the space was mostly blank, except for a scrawled 'are you nuts?' and a crude forgery of Principal Snyder's signature.  
  
Another was an announcement from Snyder saying that running in the corridors was now a detention offence, with another scrawled amendment beneath that saying that blinking, dribbling and possessing free will were all now offences as well.  
  
Dark as the corridor was, the spot opposite the library doors was occasionally lit by short flashes of light, to the accompaniment of the clash of metal on metal.  
  
Inside the library two swords clashed, were withdrawn and then clashed again, the blades reflecting the lights above. There was a pause and then the two opponents engaged again, in a blur of blows, up, down and across.  
  
The two men fighting were using rather different styles, one holding his sword in a two-handed grip and the other grasping his sword in one hand. The latter was breathing more heavily than the former, who was also sweating rather less. The clashing sounds increased as the first man started a series of blows that pressed the second back across the floor of the library until, following a swirling spiral of juddering blades, he finally disarmed his opponent by flicking his sword away from him, sending it skittering across the floor.  
  
Rupert Giles rubbed his hand thoughtfully, settled his glasses more firmly on his nose and then smiled, holding his hands out. "Ouch. Well done, Xander. You've gone further than I can teach you, I think. Your style is, is somewhat unconventional and your habit of using a two handed grip might be a problem if you meet someone who is less... well, chivalrous and punches with the hand he isn't fencing with but, frankly your technique is highly effective. You also seemed to have speeded up somewhat."  
  
Xander grinned. "Yeah, well, I was only partially using the force there. If I was really using it, I'd have been a lot faster." He hefted the sword, thoughtfully. "This thing is better than the one I used before."  
  
The Watcher snorted and picked up his own sword, before walking over to the heavily disguised weapons cabinet. "Yes, well, a practice sword is a practice sword. But there are some better ones out there. Like that one. Or- " he lifted out a different sword from the cabinet. "Like this one. Here," and he handed it over. "Try that for size."  
  
Reaching out, Xander took the sword and pulled the blade from the scabbard. It was long, perfectly balanced and sharp as hell, as his finger wincingly told him, with the handle of the hilt wrapped in red leather. The crossguard was curved, with a small eagle engraved on both sides of it.  
  
"It's perfect," he breathed and then made the blade sing through the air.  
  
Giles smiled. "It belonged to an older cousin of mine, he, he forged it himself in the '60s, as part of that 'return to the soil' subculture. He wanted to be a more active Watcher, but sadly he never had the chance, as he was trained but never called as a Watcher before he died. I think that you can put it to rather better use than I can."  
  
Following an impulse that he really couldn't explain, Xander sheathed the sword and then, holding it with the hilt on his chest, he bowed briefly to the Watcher. "Thank you."  
  
Giles nodded. "No, no, you're welcome to it. Between you and Buffy you've fairly exhausted me when it comes to swordfighting lessons recently, but frankly it's been rather exhilarating." He closed the cabinet and then slumped into a chair. "More exhilarating than tomorrow might be, I fear."  
  
"What's up tomorrow? Apart from exams?" asked Xander, frowning. Another effect of using the force had been the fact that his memory had improved a great deal. This meant that his test scores had also improved, taking him from the murky waters of D-minuses to the heady heights of the A brigade. This was both good and bad. On the one hand his parents were exhibiting odd symptoms of pride and delight. On the other Snyder was convinced that he was somehow cheating and kept lurking in random corridors so as to pull a passing Xander into rooms and spring spot tests on him. So far Xander had passed every test with flying colours, but Snyder was still sticking with his 'Harris is a cheat' riff.  
  
"Oh," said the Watcher, "I had a call earlier today from Doug Perry, from the Museum of Sunnydale. Some construction workers found some kind of artifact and they need my help to identify it. I'm going there tomorrow morning to take a look."  
  
"Another wacky piece of rock," quipped Xander. "I do so not envy you." Then he looked back at his new sword. "Thank you again though."  
  
Giles looked up at him reflectively. "And, and after the exams – are you still going to adhere to your plan?"  
  
He received a slow nod in response. "Yeah, I talked to my uncle last night. He's quite pleased about it, he's always offered the place to my folks to stay during the summer. I told him that I'll take good care of it." His gaze grew introspective. "It's right on the edge of the desert, Giles, miles from the nearest house. Lots of privacy to train. All the comforts of home. Not that I'll need them."  
  
Reaching into the jacket that hung from another chair he pulled out the training manual that he had so carefully assembled. Almost every page was full of writing now, writing that Giles still couldn't understand.  
  
"It should be enough," Xander said carefully, flipping through the pages slowly. "Enough to take me to the next level. After that? It depends."

* * *

Spike was feeling uncharacteristically concerned as he lounged in his wheelchair, smoking a fag. Frankly he was bloody worried, something that normally happened to the other buggers around him.  
  
The object of his worry was currently out hunting, on one of his increasingly frequent hunts for the Slayer. Angelus was getting obsessed with the girl, obsessed to the point of being a bleedin' stupid prat.  
  
The danger was that Dru was definitely under his thrall and if the Slayer chose to get pissed off at Angelus when Dru was around, the chances were that they'd both get dusted quite fastish.  
  
Spike blew some more smoke out and stared at the ceiling. You should never take a Slayer lightly. At all. Alright, he'd killed two of them himself, but those were on grounds of roughly his own choosing. Sort of. Okay, there was an element of chance there. But you should never take one on when she was on her own ground. And Spike had suspected for some time that this was not your normal Slayer. This one was stronger, but he hadn't the foggiest why.  
  
However, he also more than knew that he was in danger of losing control of his own little pack. Angelus had been recruiting his own boys, had been placing them in key positions, and had been assuming more and more control next to a clearly joyful Dru. He was losing her to him.  
  
Angelus had also been assuming that Spike was still stuck in this bloody wheelchair. He tapped his toes thoughtfully. Yup, he felt up to a waltz or two.  
  
Many vampires lacked two things, prudence and a long-term vision, but these were things that he'd been able to pick up over the years. Although he had to admit that he hadn't shown much tact over getting rid of the bleedin' Anointed One. Or was it the Chosen One? Irritating One had been a better phrase.  
  
Angelus had always been a violent, murderous, easily provoked bastard. Not that that was a bad thing in a vampire, after he was himself. But he lacked that vital element of caution in times of stress. What was the Old Master had said? "I give him a hundred years." Well, that had been bang on the nail that had, Angelus had gone for about a century before he had been cursed into being a complete bleeding heart wanker. Now that he was back to his old self he was making up for lost time. And irritating the slayer.  
  
He frowned in concentration and then shook his head.  
  
Bloody mad, he thought, bloody mad. What an odd idea. The slayer as a possible ally against Angelus? Naaah.  
  
Then he heard footsteps and turned his head to the doorway, making sure that his foot was still again. Dru and a minion were walking in, clutching a newspaper and why was she looking so excited?  
  
Bollocks, something was up.

* * *

It was only a piece of paper, but Giles was staring at it as if it was ticking. Not that Xander could blame him.  
  
"It looks like Miss Calender was trying to replicate the original curse, to restore Angel's soul again," said Willow.  
  
"She said it couldn't be done," said Giles faintly.  
  
"Well it looks like she tried anyway," replied Buffy, "And it looks like it might have worked."  
  
Giles, true to form, had taken off his glasses and was polishing them absent-mindedly. Then a voice behind him piped up. "Why would you want to?" asked Cordelia. "I mean, I know that this might be a good thing, but the guy did murder Jenny Calender."  
  
There was a pause and then much to his own surprise, Xander cleared his throat. "Yes and no," he murmured. "He's not Angel any more, don't forget, he's Angelus, the Scourge of Europe. With no soul the demon inside has taken over again and it was the demon that killed Miss Calender. Angel really has fallen to the dark side and the spell might be his only ticket out of it, his only hope for the balance."  
  
Damn he thought, I can't believe I just said that. Me, standing up for Deadboy! Pigs might _freaking_ fly before today. But it's true, and for a moment he fought back a clear memory of a small blond-haired buy running towards him up the landing ramp of a ship while two light sabers clashed in the background. There was good in everyone. Sort of. Then he remembered the reference to the dark side and almost bit his tongue in annoyance, although he realised that he had kept the reference the right side of pop culture.  
  
Nevertheless, Willow was staring at him amazed and even Giles was looking surprised. Buffy however was running with the momentum that he had provided.  
  
"Xander has a point, although it does wig me out a little that he's all Angel-proness now. Angelus killed Jenny, not Angel, and if we can get Angel back he can help us to make Spike and Drusilla go poof in the night."  
  
"Go what in the night?" asked an appalled Giles.  
  
"Poof. Dusty vamps, you know the way that they go all poofy."  
  
The Watcher shuddered. "Please be more careful with your use of language. Certain words don't always have the same meanings. But to return to this spell, this would entail a greater knowledge of the black arts than I possess."  
  
Willow started making 'Ooing' noises at this and Giles turned back. "I've been going through Miss Calender's files and researching her notes, and I may be able to work this," she said.  
  
There was a silence in the room. Willow looked excited, Cordelia looked sceptical, Buffy looked quietly hopeful, Giles looked deeply uncertain.  
  
And then Xander felt a disturbance in the force. Something horrible was going on. Something was moving. 


	6. Battles Lost

Originally I was going to write out the whole of this thing in one episode to cover the both episodes of "Becoming". Then reality kicked in and I decided to cut the damn thing in half and post each bit up after I finished writing it. So that's the plan. Many, many thanks to everyone who has reviewed this thing so far, your comments really have encouraged me to keep this thing on the boil. Anyway, here is the first part. I hope that you like it and I also hope that I can keep up the good work!

* * *

"Xander, could you possibly a little less cryptic and a little more specific?"  
  
Scrubbing at his eyes tiredly, Xander turned and shrugged helplessly at the Watcher.  
  
"Giles, this thing isn't easy to put into words. It's like trying to describe what sound yellow makes or what a smile smells like. Trying to describe the force is hard enough – describing the feeling I had half an hour ago is almost impossible."  
  
"Then try again, please, a little more... slowly this time."  
  
"I felt a disturbance in the force. A big one. It felt... like a backwash, only it was coming from in front of me."  
  
"Sort of like a wave, perhaps?" asked Giles, his brow creased and his arms folded.  
  
Xander paused and made a tumbling motion with his hands. "Yeah, but a wave that came from one direction. It felt like... something bad is coming. Very bad. I'm not sure when – I've never had this feeling before. But soon."  
  
Taking his glasses off, Giles stared down at the floor. "So something bad is coming, but you don't know what and you don't know when. Just that it is bad."  
  
"That pretty much covers it," admitted Xander sheepishly.  
  
"Yes, well, any advanced warning is welcome, but an unpleasant aspect of living on the Hellmouth is that we get so many 'bad' things occurring that they tend to be ten a penny." He put his glasses back on. "Although perhaps it ties in with my trip to the museum this morning. They have indeed discovered an artifact, quite, quite a fascinating one as well in my opinion. An enormous container of some sort with markings on the outside in a language that might be an archaic form of Phoenician. I think there's something inside it. Frankly, just, just looking at it gave me the creeping horrors," he admitted.  
  
"There were several heavily encrusted characters on the front as well, which might have been the beginning of a name. If I'm right, and I... pray that I'm wrong, a rather ominous name."  
  
The young pseudo-Jedi stared at him. "Giles, when you mention words like 'ominous' and 'creeping horrors' you do realise that most other people would be jumping out of windows and running for the nearest airport, don't you?"  
  
He received a rather wintry smile in response. "That's another aspect of the Hellmouth, Xander. You develop a rather different set of priorities."  
  
He looked at his watch. "I believe you have an exam in a quarter of a hour. Don't worry, I'll, I'll keep you informed if there are any further developments."  
  
Xander nodded and picked up his bag. "You do that, Giles." Then he turned back for a moment. "Is Buffy alright?"  
  
Surprised, the watcher looked up at him. "Yes, yes I believe so. Why do you ask?"  
  
"I've been getting a weird vibe off her for the past day or so. Like... she's two people."  
  
Buffy let off a big honking signal in the force, as if several people were combined within one body. One of the better descriptions that he'd been able to give Giles was that ordinary people glowed like light bulbs in the force. In contrast Buffy glowed like one of those arc-lights that baseball fields used to light the pitch with at night and for some reason over the past day that glow had increased in brightness while feeling fuzzy at the same time.  
  
Raising both eyebrows Giles looked him. "She seems to be alright. I'll check, just to be on the safe side though."  
  
Hefting his bag to his shoulder Xander turned and walked off to that most joyous of things, a maths exam. I'd rather be staking vamps, he thought morosely.

* * *

By the time that the evening arrived Xander was in the middle of a severe case of the confusing force senses. He now definitely seemed to be picking up two Buffy-sized blips in the force that were now giving him a headache. And much as he tried he couldn't shake the feeling that the second blip was slightly different. It had to be another skanky Hellmouth-induced effect, he thought darkly and then paused. Too late. He'd been thinking about Buffy too much and had forgotten to look out for Snyder, who approaching from behind at a great rate of knots.  
  
Sighing he turned at the same time that the little man opened his mouth to bark his name. The principal seemed peeved. This was normal. He was also clutching a clipboard. This was not normal.  
  
"Harris," grated Snyder, "I've been looking at your grades again. They seem to have gone through the roof. I'm an intelligent man, Harris, I recognise a deadbeat when I see one and I'm looking at one right now. And while I work for the Californian department of education and have great faith in its ability to educate people to fulfill the sad and fruitless lives that they'll lead when they graduate, I refuse to believe that after years of failure the teachers have suddenly succeeded in pouring knowledge into that skull of yours.  
  
"I think that you're cheating Harris, I can't prove it, but I know it. So for the rest of your exams you'll be away from your friends, away from anyone else come to that, and a microscopically close eye will be turned on your work. Because when we find you cheating I personally intend to throw you out of this place myself."  
  
Having delivered this little speech, the principal glared at Xander, glared even harder at the clipboard and then stomped off down the corridor.  
  
"The dark side is strong in that one," quipped Xander and walked off. Then he stopped and shuddered. What a horrible thought.  
  
He ambled off down the corridor and turned into the hallway that led to the library, stretching out with the force to get a quick reading on that odd sensation. To his surprise he realised that the two Buffy-blips were starting to come together and he shook his head at this further proof that he had a lot to learn about the use of the force.  
  
As he entered the room Oz and Willow were sitting at the table in the library, with the latter looking at a piece of paper that held the re- souling spell. Xander winced. His initial Jedi-sense that restoring Angel's soul was the right thing to do was still clashing with his Xander-sense that the only thing Deadboy was good for was to turn into grit to use on ice-covered sidewalks in Maine. So far he was just about keeping the latter in check.  
  
"Hey guys," he said, putting his bag down and slumping in one of the chairs. "How'd you do with the exam marathon?"  
  
Inevitably Willow burbled about how badly she'd done. Willow _always_ burbled this during exam season and then always came at or near the top percentage of whatever subject she was being tested on, Xander thought fondly. Although she was now burbling with a lot more self-confidence, as the result of her romance with the redheaded werewolf sitting next to her.  
  
Oz, reflected Xander, had been very good for her and was also a valuable member of the Scoobies. He was quiet, admittedly, but humorous and was perfectly willing to be locked up in a cell for three nights in the month to make sure that he didn't hurt anyone when he was in his hairy state. That took courage, although Xander still had no idea how to quantify the odd vibe that Oz kept emitting in the force. He had finally decided to file it under 'Miscellaneous werewolf/human force-wiggy sensation' and leave it at that.  
  
There was a thump and a muttered curse as Giles appeared from the bookshelves with a pile of books in his hands, one of which had fallen to the floor. Xander toyed with the idea of picking it up with the force whilst Willow and Oz were looking in the wrong direction, but then the doors swung open and Cordelia came in, complaining bitterly about the very concept of exams. Since she had been doing this to anyone unfortunate to get pulled into her ranting orbit for the past two weeks, Xander ignored her and walked up the stairs to retrieve the book whilst Giles patiently explained to the cheerleader that there was no 'big book of everything' that she could use to revise from, apart from an excellent set of volumes of the Encyclopedia Britannica which would take Cordelia several years to read through. Which was a shame, because Xander suspected that under the façade of the brainless cheerleader there was quite an intelligent and brave woman struggling to get out. It was freaky what the force sometimes revealed.  
  
Stooping he picked up the book and then suddenly straightened. The double Buffy-blip was approaching the library and the closer it got, the more the second blip was becoming clearer...  
  
Xander swore under his breath. It was Kendra! That was why the feeling was so strong, he was picking up the other Slayer! Then he remembered what had happened the last time the Jamaican Slayer had been in town and blanched slightly. As the doors of the library swung open and the two Slayers entered, he hurried down the stairs. Two Slayers = double trouble in his book.

* * *

Giles was very pale when he walked back from the telephone in his office and slowly replaced his glasses. "That was the museum," he said quietly. "The curator has been found dead and the artifact has been stolen, by person or persons unknown. Although," and he nodded to the sombre-looking Jamaican Slayer, "Based on the information provided by Kendra's Watcher, we can be in no doubt that what is inside is definitely Acathla."  
  
"And Acattylala is?" prompted Buffy.  
  
Giles leant against the counter and then steepled his fingers together. "Acathla was a demon brought forth to end the world," he said grimly. "His particular... gift was that by opening his mouth and drawing breath, he could suck Earth into hell. One of the hells, ac-actually, none of which are very pleasant. Fortunately, before he could draw that breath, a, a knight, a champion if you will, pierced his heart with a sword, killing him.  
  
"If however, the sword is removed, then Acathla's body will continue the last action that it was making before it died. Acathla will draw breath and the Earth will be sucked into hell."  
  
Buffy sighed. "Why is it always hell?" she complained. "Don't these guys have any imagination?"  
  
"An end to the light," said a voice and she looked up, surprised, at Xander, who was standing with his arms crossed and a very serious expression on his face. "I guess that for a demon the world is too full of light to be allowed to exist. Too much happiness. Too much joy."  
  
This was such an un-Xanderish sentiment that Buffy rocked on her heels slightly and blinked. "Wow, Xander, portentous or what? You taking Swedish lessons or something?"  
  
He looked up and smiled slightly. "Life on the Hellmouth tends to lead to serious topics from even non-serious people," he quipped, but there was an odd edge to his tone that Giles also seemed to be picking up on, because he hurriedly cleared his throat.  
  
"I think that we need to act on the very real assumption that Angelus has Acathla and is making plans to activate him. Until we have more information we need to act with great caution. Buffy, I want you and Kendra to patrol with great care tonight. Don't use the normal route and don't stay out late. The rest of us..." he was about to continue, but the others interrupted him by chorusing: "Will hit the books for information."  
  
He glared at them before turning to Willow. "Apart from you, Willow. I want you to concentrate on the re-souling spell. If Angelus is intent on plunging the world into hell, one way to stop him would be to restore his soul and bring Angel back."

* * *

The pen tapped once on the surface of the desk before, with a sigh, Xander put it down and leafed slowly through the pages of the answer booklet in front of him. He had answered all of the history exam questions. In full. In small handwriting, too. Which was disturbing. All this information had come out of his head with only minimal prompting, about everything between the Civil War and the Second World War. He'd even been able to correct one of the questions by pointing out that for Europe the war had started in 1939 and that 1941 was merely the date when the US of A had consented to join the party.  
  
And the exam still had another 30 minutes to go.  
  
The previous night had been something of a bust. They had a lot of data about Acathla, but without better information about where the demon was exactly in the factory complex and what Angelus intended to do with him, they couldn't exactly create a master plan.  
  
Picking up the pen again he looked around. On the specific orders of that little homunculus Snyder he was seated well away from everybody else, so that any cheating could be spotted. Mr Robson had even been dragged away from his beloved biology specimens to watch him and now the old teacher was frowning at Xander. Walking over he whispered: "Have you finished already, Xander?"  
  
He flipped through the pages of answers and shrugged. "I guess I have."  
  
Robson looked down and flipped through the pages himself, his eyebrows rising. Clearing his throat, he looked down and smiled. "I guess you have as well. Okay, mosey on out of here quietly. I'll seal this thing up and submit it."  
  
Nodding gratefully to the teacher Xander gathered up his things and slipped out on noiseless feet. Then he reached for the force and waited for a second... aha, Snyder was on the other side of the building so he had a clear path to the library. Yuck, he even left a bitter trail in the force. Was the man devoid of all the finer feelings in life?  
  
Then he frowned. Looking about wildly he walked quickly to a corridor junction and then stared down it. There was a vampire in the building, he could feel it. But it was broad daylight out there, what vampire would even risk it? Damn it, in his surprise he'd lost touch with the force.  
  
He closed his eyes and concentrated, scowling slightly. Back in touch, ok, there's the vampire.... Over there. Oh crap. He could feel Buffy clearly, and that ol' vamp was heading straight towards her.  
  
He strode down the hallway, ducked briefly into a supply locker to dodge Snyder, who seemed to be everywhere today, and arrived outside Buffy's classroom just in time to see it burst into flames after delivering its message. He sighed. This was turning into a very bad day.

* * *

It had to be a trap. It wasn't just labeled 'trap', it had damn great arrows lined with red neon lights that spelt out 'trap' in ten-foot high letters. Angelus was up to something, fumed Xander as he entered the library.  
  
Unfortunately, as Buffy pointed out, they were in a Catch-22 situation. If she didn't go, then some poor innocent person might die. If she did, then Angelus might take his frustrations out on her, but at least she'd be able to take her chances. In the meantime, there was always the possibility that the re-souling spell for Angel might work, in which case they'd be up one on Spike and Drusilla.  
  
Xander still didn't like the odds though and he vociferously pointed this out until a frowning Buffy cut him off with a loud "Enough! We _so_ don't have time to second-guess each other here. I have to go, Xander. You, Kendra, Giles and Oz have to stay here to protect Willow. Cordy, please help her as well. Willow, get Angel back before Angelus sends us all to hell."  
  
Kendra raised an eyebrow and then nodded reluctantly, before reaching into her jacket. "Here," she said in her lilting voice, "Take my lucky stake." It was a hard, twisty piece of wood that looked rather deadly. "I call it..." she hesitated. "I call it Mr Pointy."  
  
The older Slayer took it with a grim smile. "Nice weight," she complimented as she hefted it in her hand and then she was gone.  
  
Watching the library doors swing shut Xander sighed. Then he walked over to the weapons cabinet and unhooked the sword that Giles had given him, before attaching it to the small clasps that he had attached to his belt the previous night. Looking up, he saw that Oz had raised an eyebrow at him. "Interesting accessory," said the werewolf carefully. Xander drew it and looked along the blade. "I never was much of a scout," he said grimly, "But 'Be Prepared' sounds like a good motto right now," and he walked up the stairs to the bookshelves at the back of the library.

* * *

The ritual so far seemed to consist of Willow muttering long sentences, then short sentences, then Cordelia and Oz waving burning pieces of something in the air, followed by more muttering, all to the accompaniment of stifled sneezing from Giles.  
  
However Xander's mind was only half on the ritual and when, 15 minutes after Willow had started it, he began to pick up vibes of his own, he suddenly realised that they were in deep trouble. The trap wasn't for Buffy. It was for them.  
  
"Giles?" he called.  
  
"What is it, Xander?"  
  
"Giles, there are vampires in the school. Five of them coming my way, another eight towards the front doors."  
  
There was a moment of consternation in the library.  
  
"What?" asked Cordelia, as Kendra pulled out her back-up stake and stood poised by the doors.  
  
"Xander, how can you tell?" asked a flustered Willow. Then she looked at Giles, who had crossed quickly to the weapons cabinet, where he now pulled out a large battleaxe.  
  
"Long story, Wills," said Xander, drawing his sword and unclipping the scabbard so that it didn't get in the way. "Very long story. Just trust me on this one. They'll be here in a few seconds..."  
  
When the vampires did arrive it was obvious that they had been counting on catching the people in the library by surprise. Being taken by surprise _themselves_ came as a nasty shock.  
  
Kendra got the first one through the front door with stake to the heart, while Giles caught the second one at neck height with his battleaxe. After that it got rather nasty, but Xander could tell that they were just about holding their own, as he bellowed "Cordelia, run!"  
  
He had his own battle on his hands. Ever since Buffy had left he had been in the grip of the force, calm, collected and ready for anything, or at least as much anything as he could sense. The first vampire to come his way had lost his head before he knew what had hit him, while the second one had just enough time to make a surprised noise before the sword flashed out again and he too lost his head, his body exploding into dust as he died.  
  
Like the battle at the front doors, after this initial victory the fight then got nasty.  
  
He had three opponents, whom he mentally labeled Fangface One, Fangface Two and Fashion Victim, the latter due to his appalling red skintight top, which was at least eight years out of date.  
  
Fangface One charged towards him and received a ding on the ear from the pommel for his trouble as he went past, before hitting the wall and groaning a great deal. Fangface Two dived, dipped and tried to get at Xander while staying away from the sword while Xander tried to stay away from the vamps superior strength while getting close enough to deliver a killing blow at the same time. Fashion Victim seemed to be thinking and then vanished behind the bookshelves.  
  
Fangface Two made a sidle, lunged in a clumsy feint and then paid the price, as Xander lopped his head clean off. A trickle of sweat ran into one eye and he cursed quietly. Even with the force he was being sloppy and slow, but this was his first real fight with both the force and the sword and he needed a lot more practice. He heard a wrenching noise somewhere at the back of the book stacks and then feeling a flicker in the force he ducked, as Fangface Two's fist just missed his head. Luckily the vampire wasn't that experienced and a few seconds later was little than motes of filthy dust.  
  
It was at that moment that Fashion Victim returned on the scene clutching a metal rod that he had pulled off one of the windows. He had no grace, no technique at all, but a vampire with a damn great lump of metal is still dangerous. Xander parried the first blow, dodged the second and diverted the second, before moving with unaccustomed grace and speed with the force to move his sword down and then up sharply, severing the hand that Fashion Victim was using to wield the rod and sending it whirling off. There was a clang and a groan to one side, but Xander kept his attention on the vampire.  
  
Fashion Victim stared stupidly at the stump where his hand used to be before launching himself at Xander with a scream of rage, making it absurdly simple for Xander to sidestep and hack the vampire's head off.  
  
Breathing heavily Xander turned and looked at the library and experienced a moment of total and utter shock that totally collapsed his grip on the force.  
  
Willow was lying in a crumpled heap next to the table, with a metal rod next to her that had dust all over the base. Oz was slumped a few yards away, with blood running down his face from a cut to his forehead, struggling to stay conscious. By the way that he was holding his arm, something there was either sprained or broken.  
  
As for the others... Giles was being dragged limply away by a pair of rather battered vampires, who kept looking back fearfully at Xander, while Kendra... was in the grip of Drusilla. Who was busy draining the life out of the Slayer. 


	7. And Battles Won

Many thanks for the reviews, which have now passed the magic 100 barrier! I hope that you all approve of the next part, which seemed to write itself. It was very odd, but my muse is like that sometimes. Disclaimers: I don't own the characters, I'm just taking them for a test drive around my demented imagination.

* * *

Xander froze. If he ever needed the force, he needed it now. But the storm of emotion that was sweeping him stepped into the way; anger, horror, guilt, self-loathing for allowing this to happen, for being so caught up in his own struggle that he had forgotten about the others, anger again...  
  
The insane vampire was still feeding off an increasingly limp Kendra and he made another desperate effort to reach for the force, to do something, to stop this nightmare from happening, but once again that roaring flame of all the wrong emotions stopped him. He could see feel the force through those emotions but it felt wrong, hard-edged, angry, somehow tinged with black.  
  
The shock was so great that he physically recoiled. The dark side! No, not that, anything but his worst nightmare, not the one thing that he had been fighting to avoid for so many months.  
  
Desperately he closed his eyes and worked on his exercises, closing off his emotions one by one with what seemed like painful slowness as the need for speed pulsed through him. He shunted that to the back of his mind and subdued everything else. From a long way away he seemed to hear a faint voice with mixed grammar saying: "A Jedi uses the force for knowledge and defence, he does yes, never for attack. Know this, you do, um, um? Yes, know this you do."  
  
"Yes, I do," he whispered and then, once his mind was quiet, he reached for the light side of the force. It was there. Kendra's presence in it was not and he felt a jolt of emotion that almost made the force slip out of his grip.  
  
No. Now was not the time for revenge. Now was the time for justice and self- defence. There was a difference.  
  
He opened his eyes and looked at Drusilla, who had let the lifeless body of the Jamaican Slayer slump to the ground and who was delicately licking her fangs clean with her tongue. Then she caught sight of Xander.  
  
"Now there's a pretty one," she breathed, but before she could move Xander acted. Using the force he dived over the railings, executed a quick somersault, landed on the table, kicked hard upwards into another force- aided leap and landed in front of the mad vampire, who looked very impressed. The surviving minion behind her looked even more nervous than the other two had.  
  
Don't think about Giles, Xander thought quickly, don't think about Willow or Oz. He could feel them behind him, hurt but still alive, and he could feel the Watcher, also hurt but still alive and moving further and further away by the second. Just think about this, he thought, this moment...  
  
"Pretty one's very agile... I think I'll introduce you to Miss Edith and let her show you how much she can jump as well..."  
  
His face expressionless, Xander looked into her eyes as she started her mojo with the weird finger-waving and woogy eyes piece. Deep in the grip of the force, it had absolutely no effect on him.  
  
After a few seconds Drusilla also noticed this, as she started to first frown and then stare hard at him – or rather through him. Then a number of expressions flashed across her face – first uncertainty, then astonishment, incredularity, fear, horror and finally outright terror.  
  
Placing her hands over her cheeks she stepped back shakily. "No," she whimpered, "Nononononono... too much light there... too much power... from too far away... NOOOO!" and then she was gone, running through the doors screaming incoherently about not being able to hear Miss Edith because of the light, followed by a deeply confused minion.  
  
"Ok, that was not what I was expecting," said Xander, before reacting. He looked wildly around, probing with the force, torn between decisions. Willow and Oz were unconscious, although Wills was starting to stir. He felt a flash of remorse, which he quickly quelled before it got out of control. When he'd chopped Fashion Victim's hand off, the metal bar it had been holding had spun off – and hit Willow. It was his fault that she was injured. Kendra was dead, and if only he had fought harder perhaps she might be alive, if only he'd moved faster, if only he hadn't lost his hold on the force, if only he hadn't been so weak as to feel the dark side for the first time. If, if, if. Too many ifs.  
  
That was the past, he thought, struggling to stay focused, struggling to keep the force. Now he had to make a decision fast. Stay and protect Willow and Oz? Or run after the vamps that had Giles, who were obviously going to drag him back to Angelus so that the vampire could wring the right information from him about reactivating Acathla and ending the world.  
  
He had no choice, this was a no-brainer. He hated to leave his oldest friend, but he could feel Buffy's presence start to strengthen as she approached and he had no choice. Buffy would take care of the others. He turned and ran after the vampires.

* * *

Her head felt as if it was going to go pop at any moment, she was shaking from the very effort of looking up and her eyelids seemed to weight several tonnes, but Willow forced herself to look at the swinging doors. "Was that Xander?" she murmured woozily and then passed out again.

* * *

He ran through the corridors, his senses alert, his sword gripped firmly in his hand. Turning one corner he saw the main doors to the school still swinging slightly from the passage of the vampires and reaching out with the force he opened them as he approached, leaping down the steps outside and turning his head to look at the spot fifty yards away where the force told him that the vampires were.  
  
Two were busy bundling Giles into the back of an extremely battered car that had had its windows painted over to prevent the sunlight from entering. The other one was trying to help a wailing Drusilla in, or rather push her in. Xander had no idea why his force abilities had set her off like that, but frankly he was relieved. Mad she may be, he thought as he ran towards the car, but she's still dangerous.  
  
At the sound of his footsteps the minion with Drusilla looked up, pulled a face and threw her into the car, shouting "Let's go, it's that maniac with the sword!"  
  
The others looked up and slammed the back door, one getting into the drivers side and starting the car. With a squeal of brakes the car moved off, and Xander accelerated. He had no chance of outrunning the thing, but if he could catch up with it while it was still accelerating...  
  
But now it was moving faster and faster. Desperately Xander reached out with the force as he ran, with a wild idea that perhaps he could lift the thing off the ground, or just tip it up so that the rear wheels lost traction. But the car was too big, his grip on the force was too weak, it was like trying to pick up an iceberg with a pair of sugar tongs. Then he remembered the incident the month before with Angelus and as he ran he looked around for anything that could be used as a weapon, which could puncture one of the tires and just slow the car down.  
  
There! Up the road a battered 'Stop" sign was leaning drunkenly against a hedge and Xander fumbled for it with the force, wrenching up, up slowly until the jagged metal base came free of the concrete. Panting now, both with running so hard and the strain of picking up something so large with the force, he aimed it and sent it swooping towards the car, aiming in the general direction of the rear left hand wheel. There was a –whung- of metal hitting metal but instead of hitting the wheel, the sign crunched into the luggage compartment and stuck there, wobbling ridiculously as the car sped away into the night. His grip on the force dribbled away and Xander Harris slowed and stopped, staring anguished at the disappearing taillights. Then he let out a scream of frustration and grief that echoed around him, before he let the sword fall out of his hand and he fell onto his knees. He had failed.  
  
He wasn't sure how long he stayed there, teeth clenched, staring at the surface of the road. It was more than a few minutes, as he needed more than that to run through what he'd got wrong tonight. It was a horrible list.  
  
Should have sensed them earlier, he thought savagely, should have killed those vamps sooner, should have been more careful when that pipe went whizzing off, should have saved Kendra, should have run faster after them, should have rescued Giles... Some Jedi-wannabe he was. No, he was miles away from being a Jedi.  
  
Slowly he got to his feet and picked his sword up. Too many lessons tonight, he thought sadly. Never take anything for granted, never rest on your laurels, never... he sighed and looked up at the stars. He knew where they were talking Giles – the Factory. But he couldn't just walk in and deal with them. He needed a plan. And he needed the Slayer.  
  
Thinking about Buffy, he blinked suddenly and then cursed. Buffy! She'd been approaching the school and – she'd find Kendra dead. Her friend and fellow slayer. He turned and started to run back to the school.

* * *

Spike was having a quiet fag as he looked out over the Sunnydale skyline when he heard doors banging open at the rear of the factory and the sound of someone being dragged in. This was nothing new, so he took another puff and wondered how many Silk Cut he still had left. Then heard a low moaning babbling noise, the sound that Dru made when she was deeply disturbed and it was all he could do not to leap from his wheelchair and go to her. Instead, he quickly wheeled his way down the corridor and into their room, in time to see two of his flunkies lay her on the bed. She was shaking and her eyes were locked on some distant point far beyond the room.  
  
"What the bloody hell happened?" he snapped as he approached.  
  
The first flunky looked at the other, who shrugged. "There was a guy there, with a sword. She drained this chick who was fighting us and then this guy saw her, leapt across the table like it wasn't there, man, like he just flipped his feet and went for it. And then he looked at her – and she freaked. She ran, yellin' something I couldn't understand about not being able to hear and something about him being from far, far away. Had a struggle to get her in the car."  
  
There was a step at the door and Spike turned to see that Angelus had returned. "We got the Watcher!" he said gloatingly, "And soon he'll tell us all he knows. What's with Dru?" "Like you bloody care," snapped Spike.  
  
"Of course I care," his grandsire replied, "I like an audience when I torture people. Slap her, someone," and then he was gone.  
  
If he had still been there, then the glare that Spike directed at where he'd been probably would have shriveled him to dust. As it was, Spike muttered a curse, wheeled closer to the bed and looked Drusilla in the eyes.  
  
"Dru," he said gently, "Come back to us love, come back to us. What did you see?" For a long moment there was no response and then slowly she turned to look at him.  
  
"Spiky?" she whimpered. "Spikey?"  
  
"It's me, love."  
  
"I saw something in that pretty one, the one that jumped like a cat. Something else, someone else. Beard he had, long glowing sword, from far away, far, far away... there and not there... merging and not merging... becoming something. Very dangerous, that one... I couldn't hear Miss Edith at all when he looked at me..." She shuddered and then her eyes flickered over to her doll collection.  
  
"There you go," said Spike, brushing an errant hair from her forehead, "All there. Miss Edith's over there... now you go spend some time with her and get all better."  
  
As she staggered over to her chair, Spike wheeled quietly out of the room. Then he looked down the corridor and wheeled quickly down a side passage that led to a service entrance by the side of the building. Opening the door and checking to see that the coast was clear, he rose from the wheel chair, kicked the flaps up so that it folded in half and hid it carefully in an old dumpster that was by the door. Then he started to walk quickly.  
  
Dru would be fine, now that she was with her dolls. Something about her description worried him, something that tugged at a memory at the back of his mind. Plus Angelus had the Watcher, which was enough to send the Slayer into a vampire-killing frenzy. This place, he thought, was getting too damn dangerous for words. It was time to reclaim Dru and get the hell out of the Hellmouth. He needed to talk to the Slayer. But very, very carefully, obviously.

* * *

By the time that Xander could see the school again, he could also see the flashing lights. Wow, he thought, of all the nights that Sunnydale's not-so- observant police force finally woke up it had to be tonight. The Scoobies' luck fairly sucked just now.  
  
Taking a deep breath he slowed down and looked around. There was a large bush to one side and he carefully hid the sword in it. Even the Sunnydale PD might notice that if he walked into the school with it. It wasn't just the police, he realised, there was an ambulance there as well. Good, that meant that Willow and Oz were getting treatment. Walking up he could see Snyder talking to someone by the doors and then he heard something that made his heart stop for a second.  
  
"-Summers, repeat, Buffy Summers, Caucasian, five feet four inches, blond hair, wanted on suspicion of murder-" crackled one of the police radios.  
  
Oh my god, what a bunch of brainless losers he thought. They're hunting Buffy. What the hell happened?  
  
Then two things happened. Firstly he saw a pair of paramedics wheeling Willow towards the ambulance and secondly Snyder saw him and came pounding down the stairs towards him.  
  
"Harris, there'd better be a good reason why you're here, as your little friend has-" Embracing the force in an instant, Xander looked at him.  
  
"You don't need to hear my reason," he said softly, cutting Snyder off.  
  
"I don't need to hear your reason," repeated Snyder, blankly.  
  
"I'm not the Harris you're looking for,"  
  
"You're not the Harris I'm looking for,"  
  
"I can go about my business."  
  
"You can go about your business."  
  
Smiling quietly, and relieved at having done something right for one that evening, Xander walked off and climbed into the back of the ambulance, leaving Snyder shaking his head and looking confused.  
  
"It's okay," he told the surprised female paramedic, "I'm a friend of Willow," and he pulled out his student ID badge to show. The paramedic grumbled slightly, but allowed him to stay as she jumped out, pulled the doors closed and got into the drivers seat for the trip to the hospital.  
  
As the ambulance sped through the streets, its siren wailing, Xander looked at his two friends as they lay on the stretchers. Oz was groaning quietly but was still unconscious while Willow was too pale and still for his liking. Xander frowned. So far he had concentrated on some of the most basic of Jedi skills, plus swordplay. Healing was a step up from anything he had done so far.  
  
But the fact was that he felt very strongly that this was something that he had to at least try to do, a way to make up for his mistakes of the evening, a way to atone for his momentary brush with the dark side.  
  
Although he had memories of Obi-Wan using his healing skills every now and then, it had not been the older Jedi's strongest power. That made him pause. He may have had Obi-Wan's memories, but that did not make him Obi- Wan. He was himself, and his use of the force was unique to himself. He shook his head. He was getting too freaking metaphysical for his own good.  
  
Turning back to Willow, he embraced the force and then gently reached out to put his right hand on her forehead. Then he closed his eyes and used the force to assess her injuries...  
  
After a few seconds he opened his eyes and swallowed hurriedly, suppressing the need to be sick. Wills had a head wound and head wounds always made him feel nauseous. This was no time to get weak, he told himself, closing his eyes again and reaching out with the force.  
  
He wasn't a doctor, he told himself, and if he went poking around in her head he might do her all kinds of harm. But he could see the faint bruising on her brain and he could feel the lump on her head and by using the force gently... to heal, to give Willow's immune system a little help, to turn the angry red feelings that an injury created in the force into a more calmer sensation of healing.  
  
He opened his eyes again and sat there, shivering quietly, feeling utterly exhausted. He'd done what he'd could, but Xander wasn't sure that it was enough. But something was better than nothing. Wills was less pale, and as he watched she moved slightly and made a "wstfgl" noise in her throat. She was asleep now, not unconscious, and Xander smiled gently. He'd done something right this evening, anyway.

* * *

By the time that Oz had regained consciousness and joyfully kissed a woozy but rather better Willow, Xander was slumped in a chair, munching on a snack bar that he'd bought from a vending machine down the hallway. The hospital had rather a good selection and he felt his energy returning after the first two bars had vanished down his throat. He had also found himself rather glad to see Cordelia, who had appeared with a band-aid on her head from a slight scratch and who was triumphantly holding the piece of paper that held the curse.  
  
Looking at their disbelieving faces, she raised her eyebrows. "What? When they turned up I thought that they might be there to hex the whole cursing thing, so I grabbed it and ran. I got mud on my Gucci boots as well," she said, spoiling the effect slightly with her last comment.  
  
"Nice, Cordy, just work on your heroic comments a bit," smiled Xander and then looked at Willow. "Has anybody talked to Buffy yet? I know that the Keystone Cops are out looking for her, but I think that we really need to find her fast." All that Xander knew was that Buffy was somewhere in a certain direction and that she was feeling aggravated, which wasn't helpful.  
  
"Did you ring her home?" asked Willow and Xander paused. That was just too simple for his Jedi-obsessed mind, he thought and then sheepishly shook his head as the redheaded girl reached for the telephone next to the hospital bed.  
  
As she dialed she looked up at Xander. "How come you were using that sword back there so well?" she asked, "And before I went all droopy didn't I see you go all Xena-like and leap over a table."  
  
"You hit your head, Wills," Xander replied, thinking desperately, "You might've seen Barney the purple dinosaur as well."  
  
Willow narrowed her eyes. "We're going to talk about this afterwards, Alexander Harris," she said. "See? Resolved face. You know you can't beat the resolved face and – oh, hi Mrs Summers! Yes, I'm fine, I'm in the hospital. I feel a little woozy, but I'll be okay. Is Buffy there? Ok thanks." She looked around excitedly. "Buffy's there! She – hi Buffy! Are you okay? Yes, I'm all right, my brain didn't get smooshed or anything. The doctors said I was lucky, I didn't hurt my head that badly. But they got Giles!"  
  
She listened for a moment. "But you have a lead? Who? Buffy, can't you tell me who? Okay, but... wait, Xander wants a word."  
  
Taking the receiver Xander perched on the end of the bed. "Hey Buff, sorry about Giles."  
  
"Don't worry, we'll get him back," was the slightly strained reply from the earpiece.  
  
"I have an idea about that. They took him to the factory. We cut down on the odds a little at the library, but they're going to be expecting you."  
  
"I know. I have a spade in the hole."  
  
"You mean ace in the hole."  
  
"That too. Look, Xander keep Willow and the others safe there."  
  
"No."  
  
"Xander-"  
  
"Like it or not I'm helping. Meet me outside the factory in an hour."  
  
"No, Xander we-" he cut her off by putting the phone down and then looked up at the others, who were regarding him uneasily.  
  
"Since when did you become all GI Joe?" muttered Cordelia.  
  
"Since it counted," was the terse reply. "I'm going to help Buffy. We're going to rescue Giles and then put the gruesome threesome into the ground." Standing up he swept out.  
  
Willow gaped at the doorway. "Xander never sounded that determined before," she murmured and then looked down at the curse where it lay on the bed.  
  
"I can do this," she said uncertainly.  
  
Oz stirred in his chair. "Baby, are you sure?"  
  
"Resolved face," she replied, her chin coming up. "Can you get the things I'll need?"

* * *

By the time that Xander had returned to the bush where he'd left his sword, he was getting very odd readings on what he was now calling his force- powered Buffy-o-meter. She had felt normal when he put the phone down, but a few minutes later he picked up a feeling of immense sadness, almost a rifting feeling. And by the time that he had reached the road that led to the factory, that had been joined by a feeling of deep anger and helplessness, combined with bafflement.  
  
No, something was up with the Slayer, and he had no idea what. On reflection, it was only to be expected after the day's events, what with Kendra dead, Giles captured, Willow injured and the library looking like a war zone.  
  
He paused and shook his head. It had been an eventful day, a long, nasty day after which, he knew, things would never be quite the same. Then he looked up at the factory and stretched out with the force.  
  
Five vampires at the main doors he thought... three on the roof... two more at the rear... ten at various places inside... plus Angelus, yuck... Oh, there was Drusilla, her mind all brittle shards, no wonder she was a candidate for a straitjacket... and there was Spike. Hum. Stronger than we thought. A lot stronger. And angry, too.  
  
He thought back to the conversation he'd had with Buffy and her strange mention of an ace in the hole. Spike? That was ludicrous!  
  
And there was Rupert Giles... alive but weak. Dangerously weak. With Angelus next to him and-  
  
The shock hit him and Xander recoiled. Pain, there was a lot of pain coming off the Watcher. As if... he was being tortured.  
  
He looked around desperately. The Slayer was a good mile or two away and by the way that Giles was feeling, he was too weak for his own good. It was up to him.  
  
Standing there he closed his eyes and calmed his mind. This was important. There was no point going in if he was going to lose himself to the dark side or lose his grip on the force at the wrong moment. He stripped away his emotions down the core of his being and then slowly let out a breath. Then he walked towards the side of the factory.  
  
There was an old dumpster against one of the walls and he approached it carefully, assessing if it would bear his weight. If he could climb on top and then force-leap to the roof... the three up there were on the other side of the building... then he saw the door and paused. Open door, no guards. A little too obvious, but when he stretched out with the force he realised that it seemed to be genuinely not a trap. Hum. Perhaps it was an escape route?  
  
Drawing his sword he peered in carefully. The nearest vampire was 20 yards away and was walking away. Slipping in, he glided slowly from shadow to shadow. This wasn't easy and several times he had to stop dead as a vampire passed by nearby. But none of them detected him and he was able to move on.  
  
Finding Giles wasn't hard, he was in a great deal of pain, although that pain was now mixed in with deep, deep grief and longing. The problem was the two guards on the door and the muttering voice inside. After a moment a smiling Angelus came out, half-supporting a weak but also smiling Drusilla. Xander shrank back and closed his eyes, minimizing his force signature. If she had gone all wiggy over the force back at the library, then she might pick it up again here and...  
  
But the two vampires walked off down the corridor away from him, with Angelus making a flippant comment about having a world to end.  
  
Which meant that... they knew how to wake up Acathla. Which meant that his rescue mission was even more important than before. If Giles knew how to waken the stone demon, then he also knew how to put the bloody thing to sleep again.  
  
The two guards were rather typical of the minions that Angelus and Spike kept about the place. Neither looked very bright and one looked rather dim. Xander waited for a moment until he could no longer hear Angelus and Drusilla and then smoothed quietly around to one side.  
  
The first guard never even had a chance to say anything as Xander's sword removed his head quite cleanly. The second one had just enough time to gape at the settling dust before Xander was on him. Stepping forward he moved to make a backhanded stroke that hacked his head off as well. Pausing to check that no one had heard, Xander moved into the room.  
  
The room itself smelt of blood and sweat and as he approached Giles he realised that the Watcher was not in good shape at all. Tied to a chair, he was pale and shaking with reaction.  
  
"Giles," he hissed as he fumbled with the knots on the ropes, "Giles, it's me, wake up."  
  
The rope was slick with blood and, now deeply concerned, Xander reached out with the force to help with the Watcher's healing processes. It was fortunate that he was deeply in the grip of the force, or he would have passed out from the pain that the man was feeling, but he was able to lessen it a little.  
  
"Mmmph?" said Giles and then his lolling head came up. "Xander?"  
  
"In the flesh. Hang on, I'll have these damn knots undone now."  
  
"No... you're not real... they made me see things... made me see... Jenny... made me tell them... you're not real..."  
  
"Giles?"  
  
"Mmph?"  
  
"Why would they make you see me?"  
  
"Good... point... let's go..."  
  
The last of the ropes slid to the ground and Xander helped the man to his feet, slipping his right arm around his neck so that he could support the Watcher and keep his right sword arm free at the same time.  
  
"Let's get you out of here," he muttered.  
  
Luck, having been with them to this point, then turned against them. As they came out of the room, there was a half-yell and then a vampire that Xander had sensed, but hoped that would pass by without noticing, spotted them. As he ran towards them the sword flashed out and he joined the growing pile of dust on the floor.  
  
"Can you run?"  
  
"In your bloody dreams can I run," muttered the Watcher, but speeded up to a slightly faster anguished hobble.  
  
Two more vampires individually encountered the pair, with Xander dealing with them both, but each time Xander was forced to move away from the route to the side door to the building and too close to comfort to the main door. He could still sense the five there, but he could also sense...  
  
There was a chuckle from the shadows and Angelus stepped out. He was holding a sword with a crescent-shaped hilt and he seemed highly amused.  
  
"Well, well, if it isn't the Zeppo on a rescue mission. Doing the Slayer's dirty work again Harris?"  
  
Giles removed his arm from around Xander's shoulders and slumped against the wall. "Leave me here Xander, save yourself," he muttered.  
  
"Oh, the selfless, noble Watcher wants to sacrifice himself!" sneered the vampire and looked back. "Isn't that cute?"  
  
Moving forwards slightly Xander could see, with an inward curse that they were far too close to the entrance lobby. He could see Spike in his wheelchair, several minions, a huge stone statue of a rather portly horned demon, which was presumably Acathla, and Drusilla, who visibly shrank from his gaze.  
  
Then he looked at Acathla again. The sword that Giles had told them about was missing.  
  
"Yes," said Angelus, obviously reading his mind, "I've just pulled the sword out. You're going to be going to hell in a few minutes. Or rather the others will. I have a score to settle you first, Harris, and there's no Slayer here to save you."  
  
That's what you think, thought Xander grimly, as he felt Buffy's presence approach the factory.  
  
"She wasn't there," he said, surprising himself.  
  
"What?" snapped the irritated vampire.  
  
"When you cornered me. She wasn't there."  
  
"So who hit me with that damn pole?"  
  
"I did."  
  
Angelus laughed. "Harris, you're getting ideas above your station. Delusional ideas," and then he struck like a snake, the sword lashing out.  
  
There was a clang as it met Xander's own sword, held in his two-handed grip and there was a moment of stillness. Then Angelus sprang back and attacked again, the swords clattering and clanging together for a moment.  
  
Pausing to move slightly to one side and look at his opponent, Angelus frowned. "You're full of surprises, Harris," and Xander smiled.  
  
"Like I said the last time we met – you have no idea what I've learnt recently," and he used the force like a fist to strike Angelus in the chest.  
  
The vampire reeled slightly and then stared at him in astonishment. "How did you do that?"  
  
There was a wail from behind them. "He's full of light again! Spikey, make him stop that!"  
  
"Full of what?" breathed Angelus and then attacked again, using an overhand blow that Xander parried full on, using the momentum of his sword to sweep the vampires arm out slightly and then to jab at his chest. Angelus jumped back, but there was a rent in his shirt and a red line on his chest.  
  
"You'll have to do better then that," he snarled and attacked again, his sword sweeping down and across as he tried to use his superior speed and strength to force Xander back. Xander however was in the grip of the force. There was nothing on his mind but this moment of conflict and he almost allowed himself to marvel at the way he was keeping himself in the fight. The problem was that he had no idea how long he could keep it up.  
  
"Full of what?" barked Angelus again as a quick feint failed to attract Xander's attention.  
  
Xander grinned. "The force is with me."  
  
Angelus laughed at this and stepped back. "You have got to be kidding me, you really think that?"  
  
"I know that," came the reply as Xander stood there, and then used the force to push Angelus again. The laughter stopped.  
  
"I don't know what kind of magic you're using, but I'm going to carve it out of you. And by the way? You really shouldn't have left the Watcher on his own back there."  
  
Snatching a hurried look behind him, Xander cursed. The fight had drawn him away from Giles and now the pale and shaking Watcher was being held upright by one of the minions. He looked familiar. Come to that, he also looked very nervous, and Xander realised that he was the vampire who had helped Drusilla away from the library and who had seen his swordplay in action.  
  
"If you so much as scratch him," snarled Xander, "I'll kill you."  
  
Angelus smirked. "Oh, the Zeppo's making threats now! Face it, Harris, you bit off more than you can chew this time. You're all on your own here."  
  
"Not quite," came a voice from the shadows next to Giles, and suddenly the vampire that was holding him was a cloud of dust. Pocketing Mr Pointy, Buffy stepped out. She was clutching her own sword and was looking at Angelus through calm but determined eyes.  
  
"Xander, we need to talk about just how you got to use that sword so well. Afterwards. Take Giles and get him safely out of here."  
  
"Buffy-"  
  
"Go!" She smiled grimly. "I'll take care of Angelus."  
  
Backing up, Xander went over to help the Watcher to his feet again and then hoisted him over his shoulder in a fireman's lift.  
  
"Be careful, Buffy," he muttered and then left the building, dispatching one careless vampire as they passed the doors, which had more dust blowing around them from where Buffy had earlier disposed of the guards.  
  
As he walked down the road, staggering under the weight of the Watcher, he heard the clash of swords grow fainter and fainter, but he could feel the resolve that the Slayer was radiating, like a boulder in a the stream of the force. A few moments later they were very nearly mown down by a speeding black car with a stop sign still waggling as it protruded from the back, driven by a very mobile Spike with an unconscious Drusilla next to him. Xander gaped. That must have been some ace in the hole.  
  
At this point Giles stirred, before saying in a thick voice: "Xander?"  
  
"Yes, G-man?"  
  
"Thanks for getting me out of there."  
  
"Don't mention it."  
  
"But please put me down from here before I throw up over your shirt."  
  
"Oh," and Xander hoisted him down to the ground so that Giles could catch his breath and quell his rebellious insides.  
  
"Feeling better?"  
  
"Yes, much," said Giles as Xander helped him up. "It all went a bit hazy back there. Where's Buffy?"  
  
"She's fighting Angelus, having somehow removed Spike and Drusilla from the game board and-" Xander paused and looked back sharply at the factory. The hole in the force where Deadboy existed was filling in some strange manner, as if... as if he was returning to normal, going back to being Angel.  
  
"His soul is back..." he breathed and Giles frowned muzzily. "Willow must have finished the spell this time..."  
  
Buffy's readings were all over the place by now. He could sense suspicion, uncertainty and then a slowly growing joy... and then suddenly, sharply, the world span around Xander. Something was ripping a small but growing rent in the force, like a hole in the world that was sucking life into some very deep, very dark pit.  
  
"Oh crap," he retched, "Giles, I think that Acathla is awake, or his sucking –the-world-into-hell mojo has started. Feels like there's a whirlpool leading to a cesspit in the factory. How do we stop it? Giles?"  
  
"Angel's blood..." groaned the Watcher, looking at the building. "It requires Angel's blood."  
  
From he could sense, Buffy's joy had turned to a dreadful anguish with resolve mixed into it and then suddenly three things hit Xander, making him wince and look away from the building. The first was a sudden massive burst of pain from Angel, that dwindled away at the same time that the whirlpool feeling from Acathla abruptly ended. The third was the feelings that were overwhelming Buffy.  
  
Despair. Anguish. Hopelessness. Her heart had broken, he could tell.  
  
"Giles," he whispered. "Buffy deactivated Acathla. And I can't sense Angel anywhere, so I'm presuming that she sealed Acathla with his blood..."  
  
The Watcher groaned again. "And Buffy?"  
  
"She's not in a good place right now. I think she needs to mourn him. And I think I need to get you to a doctor."  
  
Giles stared at the building for a long time. "Perhaps you're right," he said finally. "Ow! Yes, please lead on. You'll-"  
  
"I'll let you know if I sense anything else about Buffy," he said quietly and led the injured Watcher away from the building that they both now associated with so much pain. 


	8. Moving On

Again, many thanks for the reviews. You guys are awesome! This chapter will form a bridge to the next section of Xander's journey to become a Jedi. Apologies for the delay in getting this part out. I have just spent the past week on a badly-needed holiday, at a place called West Mersea on the coast of Essex. There, the beer was cold, the weather was warm, the sea air was marvellous, the female company was congenial and I read a mound of books & went for 9-mile walks. For some reason this relaxes me. The next chapter will see Xander starting his training and the arrival of a new ally - and new challenges.

* * *

Xander was not happy as he looked out of the window of his house. Come to think of it, he hadn't been happy for at least a week - ever since Buffy had vanished.  
  
He blamed himself. He had been so intent on getting Giles to the nearest hospital as quickly as possible - the man had two broken fingers and significant blood loss - that he had presumed that he would have time later to return and console Buffy.  
  
He had been wrong. He felt her presence with the force - lost, lonely, grieving, not broken in spirit but something horribly close to it. When Giles had been patched up they had both left the hospital, over the vehement protests of the nurses there, who had been surprisingly easy to accept their story that Giles had been "mugged", although the chances were that they saw similar things seven days a week from vampire-related events that the police probably misclassified. They had then returned to the factory, to find nothing but a lot of dust, the loading bay doors hanging off their hinges from where Spike had made his escape, and a dormant Acathla. But no Slayer.  
  
Xander could sense where she roughly was but Giles had told him that she probably needed some time to come turns with what had happened. From the splashes of blood on the ground in front of Acathla, it seemed logical that Buffy had deactivated the demon by either killing or stabbing Angel, probably sending him into hell in the process. And Xander was sure that it had been Angel, and not Angelus, which made the irony all the more bitter.  
  
The first realisation that they were wrong about approaching Buffy had come the next day. Xander had been walking down a path next to the school when the reading he was getting from Buffy started to approach and then suddenly began to recede. Startled he had looked around wildly and then ran a short way along the road. Down the hill he could see a Greyhound bus stationary before a stop signal and then as the signal changed it started to accelerate away. And Buffy was on it.  
  
He had run after it as quickly as he could, but even taking all the shortcuts he could remember it was useless - the bus disappeared off into the far distance. And he hadn't even been able to catch a glimpse of its destination.  
  
But the bus station was able to tell him that only one service had left Sunnydale in the last hour or so - the one to Los Angeles. Xander had gaped at the receptionist for a second and then ran as fast as he could back to the library, where he had blurted everything out to a stunned Giles.  
  
"Why... Los Angeles? Finding her there would, would be like looking for a needle in a haystack! You're sure about this?" the deeply shaken Watcher had asked.  
  
Xander had nodded in response. "Giles, she's getting further and further away all the time. I can still feel her, but all I know is that she's in that direction somewhere," he said, pointing somewhere over his shoulder.  
  
"Let me know when she stops moving. I think we have to pray that she does stop in Los Angeles. What can she be thinking?"  
  
"Giles, we have a very lost little slayer here. I'm picking up a lot of loss, a lot of sadness. I don't think that she knows what to do next."  
  
The Watcher nodded and then took his glasses off with a muttered oath. "We should have been there for her, damn it! As her Watcher I, I should have recognised the symptoms and..."  
  
"Done what? Giles, Evil Deadboy did a number on you, you almost passed out twice on the way to the hospital! Don't beat yourself up."  
  
But that was what the Watcher had then proceeded to do for the next week. Buffy, as far as Xander could tell, was somewhere in Los Angeles, and that was the good news, she hadn't moved on. The bad news was that he had no idea where in that huge city she was.  
  
Giles had made two trips there already but had come up blank. At least they were able to tell Joyce Summers about the fact that they knew where she roughly was, something that had comforted her a little. One shock was that she knew about Buffy being the Slayer. Another was that she had found out about it on the night that Buffy had vanished and had made a heat of the moment remark to her about not coming back if she left, or something like that. Which explained, at least in part, Buffy's disappearance. Xander sensed a lot of anger in Mrs Summers, along with grief, self-contempt and frantic worry. She also seemed to blame Giles a lot, which added a new ingredient to the whole messy equation.  
  
Speaking of messes... Xander looked down at the suitcase that he had packed and sighed again. He had his own departure to manage. Picking up a rucksack that contained the all-important Jedi book and a few other important items, he slung it over his shoulder and picked up the suitcase. His father was going to give him a lift, once he came back from work. But before that he had to meet the others. He was not looking forwards to their reaction.  
  
Willow was now out of her wheelchair, not that she had needed it that much, but she still tired easily and Oz was being quite protective about her. However, she was implacable on the need to talk to Xander about the events of the previous week, and he had only been able to put her off by promising that he would explain everything soon.  
  
Walking into the library, Xander could see that she, Oz and Cordelia were all sitting at the table while the Watcher was limping out from his office, clumsily stirring his tea with a spoon using fingers that were still bound together.  
  
"I've brought you all here, today," said Xander, with a hint of mischief mixed with pomposity, "to explain how the murder was committed by Miss Scarlet in the Library with the lead pipe. Naah, sorry, always wanted to have that Hercule Poirot moment."  
  
He crossed his arms and sighed at their expressions. This was going to be hard. "Okay, there's no easy way of saying this. I'm leaving Sunnydale for the summer. And before you ask, I have my reasons. Said reasons will be hard to explain, because with the exception of Giles you're all going to think that I've gone whacko and that my marbles have come loose in my brain and are rattling around my skull."  
  
He could see that Willow had her mouth open and was going to ask something and he pre-empted her by holding his hands up.  
  
"Remember Halloween?" The others nodded. Giles drank his tea and made a face, whether at the tea or the memories of that night, Xander wasn't sure.  
  
"Well, you all know that I went as a certain famous Jedi, although I didn't go as far as to grow the beard. The problem is that something wiggy in a night of ultra-wigginess happened and when I woke up the next morning I could remember Jedi-like stuff. Quite a lot of stuff actually. Lots of memories of being Obi-Wan. Lots of stuff about the force. Which I can use now."  
  
Their reaction was roughly what Xander had expected. Cordelia said "Have you gone nuts?" and Willow raised her eyebrows and looked highly doubtful, asking him if he had hit his head recently, because see, once she hit her head and she'd talked all funny the next few hours and once she'd had a dream and confused the dream with the real world because she'd been on cough medicine at the time and...  
  
True to form, Oz just raised an eyebrow, looked impressed and said: "Cool."  
  
Realising that unless unchecked Willow would talk on and on without pausing for much breath, Xander looked over to the desk and spotted a large book at the end. Using the force he raised it from the surface and floated it over to the table, under Willow's eyes, which bugged out. She went silent and then, with shaking hands, picked it out of the air and ran her hands over it.  
  
"Look no hands," smiled Xander. "No wires either."  
  
"How..." breathed the little redhead and Xander looked over at Giles, who was frowning at his tea. The Watcher looked up and cleared his throat. "I'm, I'm not sure how such a thing could happen. It's a mystery, but I suppose that living on a Hellmouth should teach us to expect more odd occurrences occurring like this. The fact that Xander has such detailed memories means that something significant must have happened when Ethan performed the ritual to Janus. More than that..." He shrugged.  
  
"So does this mean that you can go all Jedi-like and run rampant through the Vamps?" asked Cordelia, obviously struggling to come to terms with the change in someone that she had looked down on for years. Xander pulled a face. "Not quite. It means that I have the potential to become a Jedi. I can use the force, but I'm no Obi-Wan. Hell, I'm not even a young Luke Skywalker. I need training. And that's why I'm going away. I'm going to stay at my Uncle's place north of here, on the edge of the desert."  
  
A crestfallen Willow finally rediscovered her voice. "But why do you have to go away? Can't you train here? And do you have to go when we're trying to find Buffy?"  
  
Sighing, Xander slumped into a chair. "Wills, I'm a novice at this whole Jedi thing. I don't know if it will work, I don't know how long it'll take. But I do know that I need to get a grip on this mojo and I need to do it fast. If I'd been better at it... maybe I could have got to Drusilla before Kendra died. Maybe I could have saved Giles from being grabbed by Angelus's boys. Too many maybes here. I have a chance to train somewhere secluded, where there are no people who will wonder why rocks and stuff are floating next to me and where I can work on my sword work. And I need to do this, Wills. There's too much at stake here in Sunnydale for me to ignore this. And I need to get a grip so that there's no chance of my ever going all dark-sidey on you all."  
  
"Xander you'd never go all, all hooo-hooo" protested Willow, doing a very good impression of Darth Vader's breathing.  
  
"You don't know that Willow," said Xander abruptly. "You don't know the force. And it scares me sometimes. The night Kendra died I saw the dark side and the very fact that I could gave me the willies."  
  
Giles looked up from his tea again. "I have to say that Xander and I have discussed this and that I fully concur with his decision. Xander has shown a responsibility and dedication to training that has impressed me. As, however, I am only qualified to train Slayers and not Jedi, I cannot take his training any further. He has told me that he can rely on certain... memories shall we say,? ...to train himself."  
  
Willow went quiet at that and directed a very doleful stare at Xander, who stared back. "And by the way," he said slowly, "I can tell where Buffy is using the force - the general direction that is. That's how we knew that she went to Los Angeles. So, if she does move on, I'll be able to tell."  
  
"Of course, I'll be looking for Buffy as much as I can," added Giles.  
  
Looking up, Willow sighed. "How long will you be gone?" she asked in a small voice. Her oldest friend shrugged. "Wills, I have no idea. Might be two weeks, might be six. It might not even work. I'll do my best to get it done as quickly as I can. It might make it easier to detect Buffy, you never know. But I'll get it done and then get back here to help you with the ceremony of vamp-dusting. And speaking of getting things done, I'd better get going."  
  
There was a high-pitched squeak from Willow that made Oz wince and caused Giles's tea mug to leap almost out of his grasp.  
  
"Today? You're going today? Why today?"  
  
Frowning, Xander looked down at his feet, sketching a little line with the tip of his shoe on the floor. "To tell you the truth Wills, I don't know why it has to be today. I just had this feeling that today was the day that I started to train. Probably one of those Jedi things. Dad's driving me out. In fact..." he looked his watch. "He should be picking me up in a few minutes."  
  
A pouting and rather teary Willow had, of course, insisted on a goodbye hug along with soliciting the promise that he would write/call/telegraph any news, while Oz, being cool, had contented himself with what he called 'a manly grasp of the hand, goodbye thing'. Cordelia had muttered something that sounded awfully like 'good luck' and Giles had smiled and wished him a much louder and more confident "good luck."  
  
The Watcher had also walked him out of the building. As they strolled down the corridor Giles cleared his throat. "Xander, when you first told me about your, your abilities, you asked me how I stayed Rupert and held Ripper at bay. I think I was able to pass on a few, a few hints, but frankly I left the bulk of it to you.  
  
"There was a good reason for that. I don't want to get too pompous, amazing as that would sound to Buffy, but everyone has their own demons to face. At the risk of sounding too Jungian, we all have... well, shadows in our minds, and who we are is determined by how we deal with those shadows. Some of us succumb to them, some battle them, some of us hold them at bay and some of us can conquer them.  
  
"I think that as long as you hold your, your focus and keep working at your training you can beat the dark side. I know that you're afraid of it. I understand that. There, there are times when the dark side of me scares me. There are some memories in my past that I wish I could expunge. But I feel that you have the chance to do something, something unprecedented. Trust yourself."  
  
Xander looked at the Englishman levelly. Then he held his hand out. Giles took it and they shook hands solemnly. "Okay," breathed Xander. "Time to go."  
  
As he walked out of the library he knew, somehow, that he had crossed some kind of Rubicon, some boundary line in his life that marked a new start, for good or bad. Turning, he walked down the corridor and through the doors into the sunshine. His father was just drawing up in the car and Xander realised, with a slight start, that his Dad was wearing a new shirt and was looking a little thinner than he had in the past. It was, perhaps, on the basis of reflected glory. Being able to brag about how well his boy was doing at school, how his grades had improved, was having a good effect on his Dad. On Mom too. A nice benefit.  
  
Getting into the car they pulled away.

* * *

His uncle had certainly made a pile of cash out of being the white sheep of the family. His place was rather rambling single storey place on the edge of the desert, with all the mod cons and a garage full of machinery and DIY tools. The nearest neighbour was about five miles away to the south, if you discounted the coyotes, vultures and birds inhabited the area. To the north and east was a large stretch of mostly flat desert, while to the west there were low rolling hills and the occasional rocky mesa outcrop. It was perfect. 

It was time to go to work. For real this time.


	9. Too Dry For Dagobah

Wow, I've been impressed by the number of people writing in to say that they like the story. Thanks, I've done my best to keep the old creative moods going. This thing started off as a plot bunny and has become something much more. I'm going to keep it running until the end I have sketched in my head appears. And that won't arrive for some time. Eep. I'd better keep writing! Many thanks to Sepharih for suggesting that I read a book called Shimmering Sword by Nick Jamilla. That was the inspiration for part of this chapter. It arrived via Amazon on Saturday and I finished it yesterday. Eep2. R&R people!

* * *

The sun was starting to go down when the man stopped running, for the simple reason that there was nowhere left in front of him to run to. He was standing at the top of a rocky outcrop, broken shards lying around it where they had crumbled and cracked in the past. The path – if it deserved the name, being little more than a line in the dust and rock – ran down at a 45 degree angle behind him, and was the only way up or down from the outcrop. Three weeks before, that path hadn't existed.

He paused and pursed his lips in thought. Given the fact that he had been running for an hour now and he was barely out of breath, he needed to extend his run. Again. And make it more arduous. Again. Sitting down he pulled his legs up and assumed the classic meditation position, before exhaling slowly. Any observer glancing at the outcrop would have thought that there was a statue there, he was so still. As he slipped into a Jedi meditation ritual Xander Harris permitted himself a small burst of satisfaction. He was doing well.

* * *

It hadn't exactly started that well. Sitting down with a pad and pen and leafing through the book after he got to the house, he had created and then torn up no fewer than three training plans. None of them were exactly what he needed.

The problem was that there was an awful lot that he lacked. No Jedi Master to question. Hell, not even a fellow Jedi-capable person to swap theories with. No Jedi Temple, although he had some very clear memories of the echoing halls and corridors of the Coruscant-based building. No training facilities, no remote targets, hell, no lightsabre!

That was some thing that had worried him a great deal. A lightsabre not only marked a Jedi out, but also, in some indefinable way, defined a Jedi in a way that he still didn't understand. It was confusing. However, the fact remained that he couldn't make a lightsabre, not with the technology currently on Earth, and certainly not without certain key components.

Some things he could make – he'd been able to collect and then assemble the circuit board that would allow him to set the proper length of a blade, something that had got him a good exam mark from an impressed, if somewhat baffled, physics teacher at school, who thought that he was making a circuit board for a TV remote. He just prayed that Mr Oblonski never tried to replicate what he'd done, or he'd blow his TV up the first time he tried to change channels. The aluminium needed for the outer surface of the handle was easy to obtain as well. So far, so good.

Unfortunately there were three key components required for any lightsabre that made it rather difficult in this case to finish it off. Two existed, but were hard to obtain. The third did not exist and probably wouldn't even be invented for a few hundred more years. The first two were a gem to act as a focusing crystal and a superconductor to project the energy. The former had to be a gem and it had to be a tough one – that is, a very hard one, a diamond, ruby, emerald or sapphire to handle the sheer amount of energy that would be projected through it. Although admittedly a ruby was out of the question, as he was damned if he was going to have a red lightsabre. He might as well write 'Sith' on his forehead. It also had to be a certain size – at least the same general dimensions as the tip of his thumb. Small gems just wouldn't work, as a lightpencil might look cool but he doubted that vampires would just stand still while he sawed their heads off with a two or three-inch beam.

Ooookay, a gem the size of the end of his thumb. They did exist. Unfortunately they tended to be owned by insanely rich people or royalty, and he could hardly write off to the Queen Elizabeth the Second and ask her for a loan of the Koh-i-Noor. Not unless he wanted the State Department and the FBI to knock on his door one morning and say that the British Government wanted to ask why he wanted the biggest diamond in the world from her crown. So a focusing gem looked a little out of his reach for the time being.

Same with the second part, the superconductor. He would need a powerful one that was small enough to fit inside the handle. Again, these did exist. However, they belonged to advanced companies with shed loads of money, power stations and probably the US military. Buying one off the first two would take a lot of cash and when it came to the latter he had no desire to be hauled off to Leavenworth and asked a lot of questions.

The third part was the doozy. A lightsabre needed a lot of power to run, so you needed a reliable power source. A department store's worth of batteries would lead to a lightflicker, even if he got the other parts. Connecting something up to a handy power main would work. Unfortunately the concept of running a lightsabre off a pair of jump leads leading to a power outlet meant that the useful range would be rather limited to the length of said jump leads. Not helpful when it came to general slayage duties on the Hellmouth. Besides, the jump leads would probably melt, and all he needed was one smart vamp to turn up with a pair of wire cutters and he'd be a smear on the pavement.

No, he needed a power cell, something that could both store large amounts of energy and use part of that energy to recharge itself. Great. Just what power companies had been looking for. Wonderful. Oh and it had to be small enough to incorporate into the handle. Right. Hum. Did any exist? Nope, not a hope in hell. While he was at it he might as well wish for a date with Kate Moss and the keys to Fort Knox, although the latter might solve his gem problem.

There _was_ a diagram in the book that laid out how to construct a power cell from scratch. However, he was unsure if he had either the parts or the skill needed to build it. And any mistakes and there'd be a large, smoking, hole in the ground with his atomised remnants floating down around it. He still wasn't sure if the risk was worth it.

That just left his sword. He was quite fond of it now and, in true Xanderness, had even named it. It had an eagle on the hilt, so he called it Aquila, the Latin for Eagle. He would have to make do with Aquila, even though he knew, in his heart of hearts, that he would never be any real kind of Jedi without a lightsabre.

* * *

Getting better swordsmanship was just part of the plan that he had eventually worked out, which had led to the run that had finished at the outcrop. It was all a question of time. Proper Jedi training took years. Children were taken in at an early age, as Padawan learners, and were then trained and taught as a part of a strict but fair regime. Unfortunately he didn't have that kind of time. He had friends risking their lives on the Hellmouth and a Slayer to find. Buffy was still in Los Angeles and was still putting out large distress signals in the force.

But there was another kind of training, one that had been glimpsed in The Empire Strikes Back. He had always wondered just how long it had taken Han Solo to get from the Hoth system to Bespin in the film, at the same time that Luke Skywalker was training on Dagobah. Days? No, weeks? Sublight engines had a certain maximum speed, although Obi-Wan's memories were a little vague on this subject, not being a spacecraft engineer.

That meant that Yoda had used an intensive training regime, cramming as much as possible into a relatively short period. He had some elements of that from his memories, which he had used to put together The Plan, as he called it in his head. There were four main parts to it.

The first was physical fitness, and this was important. There was no such thing as a lazy Jedi. And besides the best way to stay alive on the Hellmouth was to be very, very fit. It was also a good discipline to have. Train your body, train your mind. So it was a case of hard runs, as often as possible, along the desert floor, up into the hills, along the mesas, everywhere he could go. He didn't have a small green pointy-eared gnome to balance on his shoulders, but he did have a small pack that he could stuff with rocks. He'd already named it Yoda and used a green marker pen to draw a pointed ear on each side of it. The fact that there were so many rocks and ledges all over the place made it easy to practice his agility as well, the leaps, somersaults and general agility. He'd made himself use the force as little as possible there.

The bruises had faded after the second week.

The second part was swordwork. This was easier but almost as draining as the physical training. Hell, it was physical training, only highly refined. Hours of practice, in stance after stance, memories running through his head of drilling on Coruscant, on Corellia, on Talus. Memories of a real duel on Naboo. And the fighting after that... Although the drills he was doing were different to the memories – he had to use more caution, more control. He was using a steel sword, not a lightsabre that was able to sear through flesh, through bone, stone and iron. Hours on end of practice, of moving from position to position, slowly at first and then faster and faster. And then again using the force.

That was like the third part of The Plan. His control of the force was improving day by day. It was there all the time now, just a moment of mental thought away, but he still doubted that he could grasp it properly in the event of an emergency, so he was redoubling his efforts there. At least twice a day he hoisted himself up to balance on first both hands and then just one, remaining still while rocks of various shapes and sizes hung in the air next to him. That morning he had taken a step beyond that, making them move through the air, some describing loops, others orbiting each other like a miniature map of the Solar System. He lacked the strength to keep it up for long, but it had been an important stretch.

The last part had come as rather a surprise. Mental training, he had thought, would come with the other areas. But then he had glimpsed a very clear memory of Master Yoda looking at him and making "Mmmm?" noises. "Corellian lampfish jumps, it does, jumps when danger threatens. Sometimes jumps out of the water, because it does not plan, plan yes, where _to_ it jumps. Anyone can jump, but a Jedi must plan where to jump to. Tactics you must learn yes, mmm, but strategy you must grasp, young Obi-Wan, so not to be a lampfish."

Given the fact that Ob-Wan had made it to the rank of General in the Clone Wars, this made sense. And frankly, given the number of times that they had been saved on the Hellmouth by a last minute piece of luck, or a just-in- time plan, this made a lot of sense.

So he'd started to study. His uncle had a computer with internet access in the house, and had left him with a stern warning that he accessed any 'inappropriate' sites there would be hell to pay. Xander had started off small by logging into a few chess sites. It was a good way to start by playing people over the Internet at chess. The moves were basic but the variations could lead to complicated patterns. It was a good way to grasp basic strategy, to look not just two or three moves ahead, but five or six, depending on the potential options that opened or closed once a particular move was made. From there he had moved on to more sophisticated war games. It was a good start.

Deep in a meditative state Xander sat there on the outcrop. It was interesting the way that the force flowed here, in a place so unlike Sunnydale. The nearest people were miles away, there was just the native wildlife and... Even in the grip of the force he frowned. Then he opened his eyes.

The sun had set a while ago and the sky in the west was a red glow, shading to dark blue overhead. Turning his head he looked down the valley ahead. After a little while he saw a dust plume emerge from the dark shadow of a hill to one side. It was a car. Only it wasn't being driven by humans. Nope, there were definitely mixed signals coming from that car. A demon, yuck, no, two demons, both evil – there was horrible signal of the dark side coming from two of them – two vampires as well, with that whole weird dead/demon vibe in the force and a... he had no idea how to classify the fifth occupant of the car. Part human, part demon, but with a goodness that he'd never been able to associate with the latter before. Plus, the fifth inhabitant was feeling very sorry for himself. And very afraid.

* * *

The person that had baffled Xander was sitting in the back of the car. He was not a happy bunny, as his Ma used to say. No, he was afraid for his bloody life, that's how he felt at the moment. He was also getting over his initial confusion. Which just left a lot of fear.

The previous night he had finally paid off Tancred the Frank the three grand he had owed him after that lame nag of a so-called favourite had limped in fourth at the 2.30 race at Chepstow the previous week. Tancred had a certain policy when it came to people owing him money – pay up fast or extortionate interest rates started to make your life a misery. Nonpayment of said interest led to missing body parts.

It had taken some fast talking here and there, a few favours called in, a few favours given, a lucky win at the 4.30 race at Dublin, but he had finally raised the money to pay Tancred off. Which was a good thing, as the old demon never forgot a debt. Rumour had it that if he could ever prove that Charles Martel had borrowed 50 silver pennies off him before the Battle of Poitiers in 732AD, then the operation of compound interest would mean that the governments of both France and Germany would be bankrupt in a day.

He had therefore had a few drinks to celebrate before going to bed, before being woken up by the ominous sound of his front door being smashed down by two nasty-looking demons. Saying that he'd paid off Tanky, no sorry, Tancred, sorry about that, he knew that the demon hated to be called Tanky, had met with little response, other than a massive blow to the temple from the smaller one's fist and after that it had been goodnight sweet prince.

Waking up, with a massive headache, he had discovered that he was wedged in between two unsmiling vampires in the back seat of a car that had had its windows spray-painted over. The two demons that had kicked his bloody door down were in the front, with the smaller one driving. He looked like a snake. The other, far bulkier, one looked like a bloody nightmare, all bone ridges and red scales and a lot of attitude. None of them were familiar. None were in a talking mood, and his initial questions had been met with either glares or mumbled threats to shut up and that they didn't know who this Tanky was. Now, hours later, they were somewhere in the desert east of LA. This was bad. The desert looked cold and increasingly dark and he wondered how the hell snake-eyes in the front could see through the windscreen to drive properly. Glancing out to one side he blinked. He could have sworn that he had seen a movement on top of that rock thingy off to one side. Imagination.

Doyle sighed and slumped a bit lower in the seat. This was turning out to be a **bad** day.


	10. The Search

Apologies for the delay in getting this thing out, but I've had an interesting week in which everything was a little screwy. Britain, or rather England, has been dislocated by the Euro 2004 football championship, so life has been a little odd. Being Welsh, I have been able to deal with the wailing and gnashing of teeth with a certain smugness. Sorry. Hope that this chapter makes up for it.

* * *

Xander watched the car as it made its way across the valley floor. Its progress was rather uneven – twice it stopped and changed direction. What was interesting was the fact that each time it had been heading towards a hill. There were three of them in the area, small things as hills went and nowhere near steep or large enough for him to have used them for his training runs. But the car, once it had sorted its direction out, seemed to be heading for the largest one.  
  
He raised himself from his meditative position and eased slowly back down the outcrop. Although darkness was gathering quite quickly now, he didn't need the force to locate the car – its headlights were blazing full on.  
  
Aquila was a comforting presence across his back in the shoulder sling that he'd made after arriving all those weeks ago. He didn't know if he'd need it, but it was better to be safe than sorry when it came to dealing with demons. Certainly when it came to dealing with vampires, where it was always useful to have a plan B, and he checked that his emergency stake was on the loop on the other side of his belt.  
  
Then he slipped into the night, taking advantage of the terrain, in the direction of the now motionless car. A little reconnaissance and then he'd assess his options. He needed to find out who they were, what they were doing there and just why the feelings he was picking up from the half demon in the car kept fluctuating so wildly.

* * *

Doyle was confused. But then he'd been confused for several hours now. His kidnappers – or whatever the hell they were – seemed to be looking for something.  
  
Twice the car had stopped and the red thing and snake-eyes had consulted some kind of old book that he was unable to see properly. Each time they'd had a minor disagreement about whatever the book said. It was minor because ol' Red and bony had lost his temper at the drop of his hat and brought his fist down on the dashboard. It seemed that he did this quite a lot from the dents that covered the plastic surface.

The red thing was the leader of this odd pack and the more that Doyle studied him the less he liked his chances of getting out of this situation alive, or at least more or less in one piece. Red had bad grammar, eyebrow ridges that almost hid his small and rather nasty little eyes, far too many muscles and a temper that went boom for little or no reason. Snake-eyes looked almost as bad, but was afraid of red. Neither were the brightest bulbs in the hardware shop. The vampires were just your standard minions, capable of carrying out orders without too much inconvenient independent thought. The magical mystery tour finally ended when Red had grunted and pointed at something up ahead, that something being a hill. Snake-eyes drove up to the base and then stopped the car. Looking back at Doyle he hissed: "Take him out."  
  
The vampires escorted Doyle out and he was mulling over kicking one of them in the jewels and elbowing the other one in the throat and running for it when Red loomed over him like a dark shadow. Even in the darkness he still looked menacing.  
  
A large, clawed, finger came out and prodded him in the shoulder. "I am Karvor of the Sankreg Clan," said Red in a deep bass rumble.  
  
"That's nice," prattled Doyle, "I'm Doyle of the, er, Guinness Clan."  
  
There was a grunt from the demon. "Know that," he said almost proudly, "You Doyle. You Brachen demon. We need your nose. Know that Brachen demons good at tracking. Good at smelling things. You find thing on hill, we let you live. Maybe."  
  
Snake-eyes emerged from the other side of the car. "Maybe," he said. "Last guide we use was bad. Tasted good though," and the two laughed noisily.  
  
Oh sod, thought Doyle, where the hell did they get the idea that Brachens could track? Well, some could, he'd heard, following intensive training and if the family had a knack for it. The only thing that he'd picked up from his father, apart from the whole demon thing, was a taste for Bushmills and a love of the racetrack. True, when he accessed his Brachen demon side he could smell things better than using his human nose, but that was only up to a point. Then he realised something. If I can't find what they're looking for, they're going to kill me, he thought. Even if he did find it, probably by falling over whatever it was, they were probably going to kill him anyway. You're going to have to use that silver tongue of yours Doyle, he thought desperately, you're going to have to talk, lie and stretch the truth until it wobbles like jello.  
  
"Can I ask what you need me to find?" he ventured.  
  
Red tilted his head and looked at him. "Hole in ground," came the rumble. "Cave. Bodies in cave."  
  
"You want me to find some bodies in a cave?" The hairs on the back of his neck were standing on end now. God, he thought, how do'ya lose a cave with corpses in it? "Fresh... bodies?"  
  
Red looked up at the hill and what sounded suspiciously like a sigh came from his general direction. "No," came the reply. "Bodies old. Dead 400 years."  
  
Sensing an opening here, Doyle nodded in what he hoped was a considering way. "Ah, that is a long time. That's going to make it hard, but not impossible. If they were fresh then I'd be able to take you straight there," he said, blathering desperately. Yeah right, he thought, I'd just follow the line of scavenging wildlife until even my Brachen senses could pick up the stench of fresh blood. "But if they've been dead for that length of time, that's going to make it a little harder."  
  
There was a pause as Red studied him. Then he leant down and hissed: "You better find. Or I kill you. You not run either. Can see well in dark, we can. And," he gestured to Snake-eyes who had been rummaging in the boot of the car and who now came forwards with a length of something that clinked. "We put chain on you to make sure."  
  
Doyle kept his face expressionless as they fastened a manacle to his ankle and then attached it to a long chain. This was not going well. He almost wished that he'd stayed in LA owing money to Tancred.

Many hours later he was tired, angry, still in fear of his life, covered in dust and had a number of bruises. Plus the manacle was rubbing a sore spot on his ankle. So far in this little trek across the hill, he'd found two unexpected rocks that had almost twisted his ankle, a startled coyote, two bats and a hole in the ground, into which he'd fallen. The vampires, swearing nastily at him, had pulled him out or rather dragged him out. Wonder of wonders, the hole had been at the mouth of a cave, and Red and Snake-eyes had gone scurrying in, only to come out with the body of a coyote which had been dead for at least two weeks. That had been proof enough that he could find dead things, and Red had reined his nastier threats in a little. From the horrible noises that came out of the darkness he had a nasty feeling that the corpse had come as a nice snack to the two demons, despite its putrid state.  
  
Frankly enough was enough and fortunately he had a plan. Sort of. Well, alright, he needed more time and more information.  
  
"Look," he said, turning to Red, who was still gnawing nonchalantly on a leg bone. "It might make things a little easier if you tell me exactly what we're looking for. 'Dead bodies' is a little inexact. I mean, if you want me to find this cave, how about cluing me in a little on what's so important in this cave."  
  
There was a pause as Red, snake-eyes and the vampires stared at him, and for a moment he thought they were going to beat the snot out of him. Hopefully he had put the right amount of helpful sincerity into it, the kind he used when he was explaining to people that lending money to him was a good idea.  
  
Then Red looked at snake-eyes and the two exchanged a kind of 'what-the- hell' shrug. He thumped over and took out the book that he had been consulting earlier.  
  
"Bodies Spaniards," he rumbled reluctantly. "Steal cross from cathedral. Take it here after running away. Have argument with each other. Stab each other. Try to stab follower, who run away. Tells priest. Priest writes it in book. Warning in book about cave. Cave evil." There was a gleam of fangs in the darkness. "We find cave, we not worry about evil. Evil not bother evil."  
  
"Okay," said Doyle, tilting his head and looking at the book. "Nice short summary. Not brilliantly helpful, but nice and short." Morphing into his Brachen demon side for the umpteenth time that night he looked down at the book to get a better look at it. It was old, musty and slim. He flicked through it and then looked up. The horizon was starting to brighten, he realised. The larger of the vampires followed his gaze and then stirred restlessly.  
  
"Dawn's almost here," he said and Red looked at him levelly.  
  
"Sunlight not hurt me," he said contemptuously.  
  
The vampire nodded. "Yeah, but you still need us to help guard the half- breed. And the more searchers the better."  
  
Red considered this for a long moment before nodding himself. "Need sleep as well," he said reluctantly. "We return to cave. Should be dark enough in there."  
  
Okay, thought Doyle, I get to live another day or so. They were walking, or rather they were walking and he was trudging and limping at the same time, up the hill to the cave, which faced north.  
  
Unfortunately the cave was not the place were he was destined to spend the day because as they approached it Red had pushed him into the hole in front of it. This time he was able to land on his feet and he looked up shakily to see the others lining the top of the hole and laughing nastily at the look on his face.  
  
Red squatted down and looked at him. "You not stray far," he smiled viciously. "Not pick lock and run away. You read book. You find cave tonight. You not find, you dead. Not climb out of hole either," and the chain clanked as it was shaken by a clawed hand. "If you tug on chain I know." And then the four were gone, off to the dark and rather smelly recesses of the cave.  
  
Doyle looked around and considered his options. He didn't have many. If he'd had a pin on him he could have fiddled with the lock on the manacle. Shame on him, he'd left his sewing kit behind. Typical. Then he looked at the walls of the hole. Whoever had dug the bloody thing had made the walls quite sheer. Who would dig a hole on a hill in the middle of nowhere? He shuddered. The thing was eerily like a grave.  
  
Turning around he slumped down, his back against one wall and his aching legs outstretched. He was bone tired and very thirsty. The chances of the others having any water on them were exactly zero.  
  
To take his mind off his predicament he opened the book and started to read.

* * *

Xander looked up the hill and frowned. It had been an odd night. His uninvited guests had spent their time wandering vaguely over the hill. He was pretty sure that they were searching for something, but what? He couldn't remember his uncle mentioning anything noteworthy about the area, and Giles had just nodded absent-mindedly when he had mentioned where he was going, so there probably wasn't any kind of magical wackiness about that part of the desert.  
  
But something had made two demons and two vampires come all the way out here, shackle some poor unfortunate to a chain and then search a barren hill.  
  
He could feel them up there – yuck. Even with a load of rock between him and them they still stank of the dark side. And their prisoner – if that was what he was – was still feeling very sorry for himself, although there seemed to be an upwards swing to him that told of an inbuilt optimism. This, thought Xander, feels like a 'the glass is half-full' kind of guy.  
  
The others were getting sleepy, he could tell. And they'd left the other one a little way away from them. Okay, he decided, time to sneak a little closer.

* * *

Doyle closed the book and directed a soft string of swear words at the wall opposite. He was a prisoner of a bunch of cretins. Genuine, card-carrying, morons.  
  
"These fellas couldn't think their way out of a wet paper bag," he breathed and looked down at the book again. This didn't make sense. What were they doing with the book in the first place?  
  
He looked up at the lightening sky. He knew what they were looking for, alright. The Cross of the Trinity, stolen from the Metropolitan Cathedral in Mexico City centuries before by a pair of degenerate Hidalgo brothers, who had then fled across the continent with a small and dwindling band of followers. The Cross had been made in Aragon in the twelfth century, taken over the Atlantic in the sixteenth as a relic of particular holiness. It would be worth a pot of money.  
  
Said pot of money was obviously why the brothers had then stabbed each other to death in a fight in a cave, before the horrified eyes of their last follower, who had then fled the cave after he saw something emerge from their bodies and take an amorphous form.  
  
He had run straight to the nearest settlement, where he died of exhaustion, but not before making a deathbed confession to the writer of the book, a priest called Don Martinez de Colombo. The priest in turn had tried to retrieve the cross – but had been unable to enter the cave. "Malignant forces", he'd written, had stopped him from going in. Some kind of ghost, Doyle guessed uneasily. Don Martinez had written that he had ordered the book to be boarded up in a cavity in the walls of his church. Somehow it was free again. That was suspicious. How would a demon get a book from a church without getting his feet charred off from standing on holy ground?  
  
He shook his head again. He'd heard stories from his grandmother about some of the nastier evil spirits, standing guard over the loot that they'd died for. That was not something that he wanted to get involved with, but on the other hand, the chances of Red and snake-eyes sending him into the cave were remote. Last night they'd both rushed into the cave they were now sleeping in when they thought that that was their target.  
  
Okay, he had the beginning of a strategy. If the ghost was as nasty as the book hinted, it wouldn't matter how evil the people who disturbed it were, it would still try to rip their arms off. That just left the vampires... he had a chance.  
  
It also helped that they were on the wrong hill. The map that the priest had drawn in the book made that clear. Three hills, in a certain place, with an old road along the side of one. He'd seen that in the gloom as they approached the place the previous evening. They'd actually driven past the right hill.  
  
He grinned. Okay, things were looking up. Then he heard a faint noise from the side of the pit. Something was up there. He just hoped it wasn't a rattlesnake or a wandering coyote. He was in no fit state to fight for his life.  
  
Instead a voice said softly: "I'm guessing that the pit and hole means that you're a prisoner."  
  
"Good guess," replied Doyle sarcastically. "Who are you?"  
  
"Oh, just a passing stranger. A curious passing stranger. Here's the question I've been asking myself. Why would two demons and a pair of fang- faces keep a demon prisoner? And why would they go wandering over a hill late at night?"  
  
"Hey," hissed Doyle indignantly, "I'm very human – on my mother's side. Only half Brachen demon."  
  
"Half what?"  
  
"Brachen demon."  
  
"Never heard of you guys. You much into evil? 'Cause if you are, you don't compare to your friends there in the cave. They stink."  
  
Who is this fella? thought Doyle. "No," he replied, "Not into the evil thing at all. Brachens are pretty much the quiet, live and let live kind of demon."  
  
"You don't, I don't know, worship any shiny/fiery/slimy demon gods?"  
  
"The only thing we worship," muttered Doyle, "Is Guinness and not having our heads put on spikes. Have you sneaked up to have a conversation or are you here to help me? Because I am in sore need of the latter!"  
  
There was a pause and then hand came into view holding a bottle of water. "Here," said the voice and dropped the bottle into his grateful hands. Doyle almost ripped the top off and glugged half the water down greedily. Then, pausing to wipe his mouth with the back of his hand, he looked up again. "Thanks," he said.  
  
"Xander," replied the voice. Doyle blinked.  
  
"I'm sorry?"  
  
"Name. Xander Harris. Yours?"  
  
"Doyle."  
  
"Nice to meet you, in the metaphorical sense anyway. Why the whole prisoner schtick?"  
  
Doyle groaned and leant back again the wall again. "I'm being held by a group of morons who are looking for a cave that contains a ghost and the Cross of the Trinity. They think that I can track things with my Brachen senses. Fat chance. That answer your question?"  
  
"Aha. And said cave is on this hill?"  
  
"No, they're too stupid to get the right one. They've got a book written by a priest who came here once. It's got a map but they still managed to end up searching the wrong place."  
  
"Ah, those wacky demons. I could get you out of there, but I'm afraid this chain is rather tough and I happened to leave my bolt cutters back at the house."  
  
Doyle sighed. "Ah well. I don't suppose you have a pin on you so I could pick the lock?"  
  
"Nope. Sword, yes. Pin no. Which reminds me..." The hand appeared again, this time holding a stake, which fell into a disbelieving Doyle's hands. "Know how to use that?"  
  
"Oh yes," said the half-Brachen demon. Sword? Who was this bloke? "How...?"  
  
"Call it a by-product of living on a Hellmouth. Okay, I need to go away and get some answers on the matter of the demons and how to kill them, as I've never seen their type before. I don't suppose you know?"  
  
"Never laid eyes on them before in my life. But the red one is in charge and calls himself Karvor of the Sankreg Clan, whatever the hell that is."  
  
"Nope, never heard of them either," said Harris. There was another pause. "One of them is close to waking up. I'll be back. Hide what I gave you, or they'll suspect that there's someone out here. I'll find a way to get you free, but it might not be until tonight."  
  
There was a brief noise of someone crawling carefully away and he was gone, leaving a baffled Doyle wondering how the hell he could tell that one of a group of demons/vampires was close to waking up in a dark cave far out of sight.

* * *

Giles shuffled out of his office in the library holding a mug of desperately badly needed tea. He had returned from another fruitless quest to find Buffy in Los Angeles at 4am the previous night and felt rather like something that could be found under a rock.  
  
Willow and Oz were sitting at the table, looking over a small amulet that had been dropped by something with far too many legs for comfort in a graveyard a few nights earlier. Giles was pretty sure that it was just a trinket, but it was better to be safe than sorry and he had submitted a full description to the artefact department of the Watcher's Council, as well as Room 42 of the British Museum, which dealt with dodgy magical items.  
  
Sitting at a chair at the end of the table he sipped his tea and sighed. Life could be rather hard at times. Then the phone rang and he groaned.  
  
"Willow, would you mind getting that?"  
  
"Sure!" said the redhead in what to Giles sounded like offensive cheerfulness, as she bounded over to the instrument.  
  
"Sunnydale High School Library, can I – Xander!" she squeaked. "Howareyouhow'sthetraininggoingwhyhaven'tyoucalledmethisweekiseverythingalright?" She looked up. "Giles, Xander wants a word. You call me, mister, or Jedi or no Jedi I'm going to... to... make your pencils all floaty!"  
  
Giles emitted yet another sigh and walked over to take the receiver from a pouting Willow.  
  
"Hello, Xander."  
  
"Hey G-man, I have a small situation here. Actually it's bigger than that, but I don't want Willow to worry. Does the name the Cross of the Trinity mean anything to you? Or the name Karvor of the Sankreg Clan?"  
  
Taking his glasses off, Giles used his fingers to massage the bridge of his nose. "The first rings a bell, but I'd, I'd have to look it up. The second one... the Sankreg Clan are an extinct, or at least seriously depleted, race of demons that were massacred during the Sixth Crusade."  
  
"Well, it looks like they missed one, if a big red bony thing that stinks of the dark side is anything to go by. Karvor is here in the desert with a snaky sort of henchman, two vampires and an Irish half-human, half-Brachen demon prisoner. You heard of Brachens?"  
  
"Yes, they're, they're harmless. Quite friendly."  
  
"Good, the guy seemed okay with the force, but better not take any chances. He's being used to find some cave where this Cross is. Apparently, just to keep things interesting, the cave comes with a ghost attached."  
  
"I'll, I'll start on doing some research. What's your number there?" He grabbed a pen and pad, listened and then wrote it down. "I'll call you in a while hopefully. Xander, be careful. If memory serves then Sankreg demons are exceptionally violent and also hard to kill."  
  
"Once again my luck stinks. I'll talk to you later."

* * *

When the phone rang again Xander was busy sharpening Aquila. He dropped the honing stone and picked the receiver.  
  
"Xander?"  
  
"Hey G-man!"  
  
"Please stop calling me that, I'm not a bloody FBI agent."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Oh, never mind. Are you sure that this half-Brachen type said the Cross of the Trinity?"  
  
"Yup. That's what he said."  
  
"Interesting. It's been missing since 1694, when it was stolen from the altar of the Metropolitan Cathedral in Mexico City. No-one's seen it since then."  
  
"Does it have any super-powers? I mean, what can it do in the hands of a demon?"  
  
"In, in demonic hands not a lot. It is powerful – but can only be used by someone on the side of light. Evil beings cannot use this thing Xander, it, it would destroy their minds. Even evil humans. Which might explain the ghost."  
  
"Giles can you explain that last part?"  
  
"Well, of course this is just speculation, but it's possible that, that whoever stole the Cross might have had his mind attacked by its powers. And if he wanted or desired the Cross badly enough it might have acted like an anchor, tying him to the spot where he died. Bear that in mind Xander.  
  
"Oh and I've double checked the records and it seems that there have been a few scattered sightings of Sankreg demons over the years, here and there. The last one was Cleveland, two years ago. Be very careful Xander. Whatever has made this demon surface could be something dangerous. Especially as the Cross is useless in their hands."  
  
"So why take it at all if they can't use it?" Xander mused.  
  
"Precisely," said the Watcher seriously.  
  
"Does a Sankreg demon have any weaknesses?"  
  
An embarrassed cough came down the line. "None that I've been able to find out, I'm afraid."  
  
"Okay." Xander paused. "Well, I'll play it by ear. And yes, Giles I'll be careful."

* * *

By the time that the sun sank beneath the horizon Doyle was getting very impatient to be out of the hole in the ground. The decor was uninspiring and the facilities were just nonexistent. He'd nursed the bottle of water through the day and when it was empty he'd buried it under a pile of dirt in one of the corners.  
  
Harris had not reappeared, but at least Doyle knew that he was out there and the fact that once or twice during the day Red or snake-eyes had appeared to check on him, he knew that Harris was probably unable to get close enough to talk. The stake was carefully concealed up one of his sleeves.  
  
Scuffling sounds and then a small shower of dirt made him look up. The smaller of the vampires was looking down at him. "Time to go to work," he said and then reaching down caught Doyle by the scruff of the neck and hauled him out of the hole, his chain clanking.  
  
"Thanks," said Doyle, dusting himself off. "I think. Where's whatisname of the Scanning Clan?"  
  
The vampire pointed to the red form of the demon as he approached and Doyle pulled the book out of his coat pocket.  
  
"We're in the wrong place," he said, doing his best to look serious.  
  
"What say?" rumbled the demon darkly.  
  
"Look," said Doyle, walking over and pulling the book open to the page that had the map on. "Three hills, see? And the road. But you followed the dirt track, not the road, and that threw you off a bit. And the hill you want is the northernmost of the three, not the easternmost. So, we should be on that hill over there," and he pointed to the low bulk of the next hill.  
  
"How you know?" asked Red, looking suspicious and confused at the same time. "How you know where east is?"  
  
Doyle sighed and pointed to the eastern horizon, which was glowing. "You don't need to be a genius to work out that LA is over there."  
  
The book was snatched from his grasp by snake-eyes, who glowered at him for good measure and then the two demons bent over it and muttered among themselves. Eventually that straightened up and looked at each other. "He right," said Red reluctantly. "Good. We do job. Never come here again. Tired of taking orders from her."  
  
Aha, thought Doyle as they walked down the hill, dissent in the ranks. Hum. They're working for someone.

* * *

Xander paused as he approached the hill. He was well behind them, but the snaky one had eyes like a hawk and kept checking around them. Using the force he knew that he hadn't been spotted though.  
  
That wasn't the reason why he had paused though. Something was very, very wrong with that hill. The bulk of it was fine but there was something about one section of it, where it felt... dark. Very dark and twisted as if...  
  
He swallowed nervously. The dark side was strong there. Very strong. It had to be the cave. Taking a deep breath he kept walking. He had a job to do.

* * *

As they walked up the hill Doyle morphed into his Brachen face and sniffed the air. Then he stopped dead. Something was there... a nasty, rank smell. Almost damp, if you could have a damp spot in the middle of a desert. The chain jerked and Red looked over his shoulder in irritation. Seeing Doyle's look he stopped and turned around. "You smell?" he asked hopefully.  
  
Doyle nodded sombrely and pointed up the slope. "Something's there," he said quietly. Red looked up in the direction he had indicated and then let out a bellow to attract the others, who were searching to their left hand side. A minute later they emerged out of the night and Red pointed. "We go."  
  
Up they went, the nasty smell that it seemed that only Doyle could detect growing in his nose like a blocked toilet. It was evil, he knew.  
  
When the cave finally came into sight Red let out a joyful noise that sounded like an elephant taking a foot out of a patch of mud. Tossing the end of Doyle's chain to the larger vampire he and snake-eyes started towards the entrance.  
  
The pair were halfway there when a quiet voice said "Now!" and a sword flashed out to catch Xander's guard on the neck. There was a sighing scream and the vampire crumbled to dust.  
  
"Here," said Harris, throwing a pair of bolt cutters over to Doyle. "I'll take care of Fangface, you cut yourself free."  
  
Bending down quickly Doyle opened the jaws of the bolt cutters and placed them against the chain by his ankle. He would have loved to have gone after the manacle, but he was short on time. There was a snap as the chain succumbed and then Doyle stood up. He was free and in a very bad mood. He was also able to see his liberator for the first time. Harris was a kid! He couldn't be older than 17 or 18! But he was a kid with a sword, which he now used to take the smaller vampire's head clean off, reducing him to dust as well. Harris recovered from the stroke and stood poised in an oddly familiar stance, looking at the cave entrance, where Red and snake-eyes were standing, having finally realised that something was going on.  
  
Now Red was obviously pissed off, because he let out a roar of anger and came charging at them both, while snake-eyes, after an anguished glance at the cave, followed him.  
  
"You die!" shrieked the red-skinned demon and aimed a large fist at Harris who, showing a speed which Doyle didn't believe was possible, dodged the blow and brought the sword down on its outstretched arm. There was a grinding clang, a shower of sparks and the sword glanced off it, leaving little more than a scratch. Red grinned at Harris. "I old. I tough. You not kill me easily."  
  
Crap, thought Doyle, this bugger's going to be hard to take down. Pulling out his stake he looked down at it. It seemed a bit inadequate. Then he looked up again. Snake-eyes was coming his way and he was in a fight.

* * *

"Okay," said Xander to himself, "This is not good." Aquila had jarred in his hand. He couldn't see a dent on the edge, but that was probably luck. He was fighting something nasty and he was without a plan B. A moment's thought and he dived under two punches before leaping off to one side from the astonished demon. "You come here!" it bellowed.  
  
"Sure," he said, assessing exactly where he was, and then leant down to pick one end of the chain up. It was about 20 metres long and he had it towards one end, swinging the short end in a circle so that it whined viciously.  
  
Karvor slowed his approach and looked at the whirling chain. "That not help you," he said. Xander grinned. "Might sting you a little," he quipped and then struck out with the chain, which slashed past the old demon's thigh with another shower of sparks. Karvor bellowed with rage and then charged again, his fists whistling through the space where Xander had been a moment before.  
  
I need a plan, thought Xander. If he even grazes me with one of those bone- tipped lumps he calls hands, I am one squashed little Xander. Using the force he could avoid them, but there was also the added distraction of the cave behind the demon, which was a fetid cesspool in the force. The dark side was there alright, and it had set up shop for a long time.  
  
He lunged with the chain again at Karvor's head and then slashed with the sword as the demon stepped back, its arms up. Aha, he thought gleefully. A weakness. Something about his head... what's vulnerable? Somewhere off to his right he heard a choking cry as Doyle got in a low blow on where a snaky demon would keep his vulnerables.  
  
Something about his head... it was dark, but he could see reasonably well with the force... that huge forehead, the big cheekbones, the fangs, the massive jaw the... eyebrows. That huge lump of bone over his eyes... That was the weak spot, his eyes. Great, he thought bitterly, lunging again at Karvor's head and making him take another step back, one weakness detected. But how to exploit it?  
  
Tactics, tactics... the solution came to him after a second, and in that moment he almost died. Slowing for just a fraction of a second as he realised what the answer was meant that one of Karvor's wild lunges grazed him as it went by, the sharp bone ridges on the edge of his fist ripping through his shirt and opening a long slash along his chest. Pain skittered around the calm area where he kept his emotions when using the force. Idiot, he thought dispassionately, use this to your advantage.  
  
Karvor let out a grunt of satisfaction and lunged again, missing completely as Xander danced back, assessing distances and the amount of force he would need for this. Then he lashed out with the chain again, using rather too much length. Karvor's arms came up again and the chain wrapped itself around the massive arm, locking itself. Karvor grabbed the middle of the chain with both hands and pulled, making the end of it sweep back behind him and then let out a bellow of triumph as he prepared to unleash a massive overhand blow with it...  
  
Striking in that split second Xander lunged with Aquila, aiming for the small eye socket under the right side of the massive eye ridge. It speared straight through, going up into the demon's brain until it ground against the back of his skull.  
  
Panting Xander stepped back. Karvor gazed at him blankly out of the remaining eye. Then he slowly toppled backwards, hitting the ground with a ponderous crash that made the other two people there look up from their own private fight. Doyle had the snaky guy's head under one arm and was busy punching him in the side of the head, but he froze for a moment to look up at the noise. The snaky guy, who looked as if he had had a severe beating from the half-Brachen demon, used that moment to break free and go staggering back in the direction of the cave. Looking at the body of the Sankreg demon he looked up at Xander with a terrified expression.  
  
He stepped up to the corpse of the demon and reached out to grasp the hilt of his sword. There was a horrible wrenching noise and Aquila came free. Xander took a long step towards the demon and then stopped. The feeling of the dark side was growing stronger and stronger, seeking to flood outwards from the back of the cave. He frowned it was as if something was approaching... then he froze. A long tendril of dark mist was oozing out of the cave entrance, almost groping towards the demon. It lunged weakly and then coiled again, preparing for another strike.  
  
Stones crunched to one side and Doyle stepped up to join him. There were now two lumps on his forehead, his leather jacket was covered in dust and there was a slash along his jaw line but he looked fighting fit. He too was gazing in sick horror at the tendril. Then he looked up. "Get away from the cave!" he shouted desperately. "Get away!"  
  
The demon gaped at them for a moment and then shrank back, stumbling closer to the dark tendril. Xander considered using the force to pull the demon away, odd as that sounded to him, but his force sense was screaming at him that the tendril was evil beyond words and he shook his head to clear it.  
  
At that same moment the tendril made another lunge at the demons' leg, and wrapped it's way around it. He looked down at the touch and screamed with horror, trying to pull away from it, but the tendril seemed to be pulsing with energy now, and looked stronger than before. It pulled back and the demon, caught off balance, fell on his face with a wail. Doyle bounded forwards, but Xander caught his arm in a grip of iron. "Don't," he said in a sickened voice, "It's too late."  
  
There was a slithering noise and the tendril pulled the screaming demon, his claws scraping runnels in the dirt as he tried to find something to grip, into the cave. The screaming stopped after a moment, started again at a more intensive and frenzied level, and then cut off, this time permanently.  
  
Doyle and Xander stared at the cave.  
  
"Want to go in there after the Cross of the Trinity?" asked a shaken Xander after a moment.  
  
"Not really," replied Doyle.  
  
"Yeah, that's not on my list of fun things to do." He looked over at the battered figure. "Let's get you cleaned up." 


	11. Wraiths On The Mind

Apologies for the delay in getting this chapter out, but I've had an odd week plus I wanted to get this chapter right. It was hard to write, but I'm not sure why. Thanks again for all the reviews, your comments are my inspiration, lol! And on he went...

* * *

The car was not in the best of shape by day. It was a bit of a mess, frankly. The suspension was soft, the seats sagged, possibly depending on where Karvor had sat on various journeys, and there were a lot of dents and fist-shaped imprints in various areas. This was a car that had been used to go from A to B, often quite roughly, not something that had been taken care of and lovingly buffed up on a Sunday afternoon.

Much to Xander's surprise the keys were still in the ignition. This meant that either the demons were supremely confident that no-one would steal a car in the middle of the desert or they just didn't care. Probably a combination of the two, he thought, as he walked around the car to the front, where Doyle had the hood up and was checking the engine.

"This thing," said the half-Brachen demon in a wondering tone, "Should have blown up ages ago. I think the only reason why the engine hasn't fallen through the housing is that the rust has corroded it in place. Amazing." He looked up. "It looks like I had my life in my hands just getting here," he quipped. He had been able to have a shave, a shower and a change of clothes back at the house and now looked much more relaxed than he had been the previous night.

Slamming the hood down he dusted his hands off. "As long as I don't try and set any speed records I should be able to make it back ok. I know someone who'll take it off my hands for a junkyard." He looked up at Xander seriously and held his hand out. "I never thanked you properly for saving my life back there."

"Ah, hell, it was nothing," replied Xander, biting back the response that it was the duty of a Jedi to help the helpless. "You'd have done the same for me."

Something happened to Doyle's face at that comment – there was a flash of uneasiness and disquiet in his eyes. He opened his mouth to say something, changed his mind at the last moment and then pointed to Aquila, which was in a scabbard on Xander's hip. "You never said how you'd gotten so good with that thing."

Xander looked down at his sword, thinking hard. He was getting odd signals off the other man: shame, guilt and fear that made him wonder what lay in Doyle's past. He could hardly press the man, after all he barely knew him. And he could hardly tell him the truth about his abilities. "Oh, you pick up all kinds of things on the Hellmouth," he said. "How to defend yourself, for a start," which was true but not the whole truth.

"Sunnydale or Cleveland?"

"What?"

"The Sunnydale Hellmouth or the Cleveland Hellmouth."

"Oh! Sunnydale. Good old Californian hellmouthiness." He looked at Doyle again but the half-demon wouldn't quite meet his meet his gaze. Okay, he thought, there's something in this guy's past that has wigged him out. I'm all out of meaningful platitudes though, which just leaves the corny old ones.

"The place taught me a lot about making choices. Good, evil, right, wrong, the whole thing. You can't stay out of the fight there once you know about the Hellmouth. Unless you're a member of the police force and you really believe that vampires are biker gangs on PCP, that is."

Doyle nodded jerkily and then gave a hollow laugh. "Life is more... shades of grey in a place like LA. You learn to straddle the line sometimes, if you have to. And sometimes you make the wrong choices." The sense of guilt strengthened around him and Xander suppressed a wince of reaction. "Some of us don't have the strength, really."

Xander shook his head in response. "You beat up snakehead back there."

"Yeah, but-"

"Trust me on this one. Everyone's got the ol' hidden depths phenomenon, or iceberg syndrome or whatever it is they call it. Someone I once knew said that you never know your strength until you're tested."

"Catchy. Did he find his strength?"

Xander paused. "Yes and no. Long story. Not sure exactly how it ended. That came out a lot less inspirational than I wanted it to."

Quirking his lips into a half-smile Doyle shook his head. "Nah, it was fine. Something to have a mull over, anyway." He looked back at the car and met Xander's gaze properly. "Thanks again. You're not going to go into that cave full of evil spirits, or whatever the hell was in there, are you?" He received a shake of the head in response.

"Nope, not until I know what it was. That's the best part of living on the Hellmouth, I have some interesting contacts."

This got him a quizzical look from the half-demon. "Like what?"

"I know the Slayer. Her watcher too. He's got a whole busload of books, the whole Demons/ghosts/things that go 'grr' in the night guides."

Doyle somehow combined awe and doubt in one expression. "Nice. Be careful though. And look me up if you're ever in LA." Getting into the battered car he drove off.

* * *

Xander was very thoughtful as he walked back into the house. He'd never really thought about the ramifications of what had been happening to him over the past months. He had worried about the possible effects that it might have on him, the dreadful possibilities of the dark side and so forth. But he had never thought about the fact that being on the Hellmouth had allowed him to differentiate between good and evil so clearly. It wasn't as simple as black and white, admittedly – there was the whole Angel- Angelus issue earlier – but there were probably fewer shades of grey than in LA. Doyle was obviously on the side of light, but he felt that he had something in his past, maybe something he bitterly regretted.

Shrugging he picked up the phone and dialed. As he did so, his eyes turned automatically to a point on the far wall. Even when he couldn't see the cave he could still sense its presence. It was very faint from a distance of two miles, but now that he knew where it was, it was like a signpost in his head, saying "skanky evil here."

The phone rang three times and then a voice answered: "Hello?"

"Hi Giles, it's Xander," he said, picking the phone up and walking over to a chair.

"Xander! How, how did your encounter with the demons go? Were you able to recover the Cross?"

"Fine to the first question, no to the second. You can put a big tick up on the demon-vanquishing box though. Vamps were duly dusted and the big red Sankreg demon is now face down in a hole in the ground. You'd better make a note that they have very thick armour and have a punch like a howitzer. However, they have an Antilles heel-"

"You mean Achilles Heel."

"Yup, that too – they're vulnerable around the eyes. Crossbows might be a good way to take them down from a distance."

There was a surprised silence from the other end of the phone. "Yes, well," said Giles eventually, "I see that you've been honing your tactics. And, and the other demon?"

"That's what I'm calling about. Doyle, the guy from the pit, gave the other one a good beating, but being a sneaky demon runt it twisted out and tried to run off. Thing is, he was standing in front of the cave when this dark tendril thing came slithering out and pulled him in. Snake boy, from the sound of it, didn't survive the encounter. And that cave reeked of the dark side, Giles, it was like being on top of a sewer. I almost hurled. Giles? You still there?"

The silence had returned and it was even more loaded than ever. Xander heard a faint clatter that sounded suspiciously like a set of glasses being removed and laid on a table. "Giles?"

"Xander, I want you to listen to me very carefully. I want you think back and tell me everything that happened next to that cave. Every detail, no, no matter how inconsequential," he said, using the tone of voice that told Xander that the Watcher was worried. Not end-of-the-world worried, but definitely concerned. He thought back to the fight that had taken place the previous night and used the force to bring the images and memories to the surface. Then he started to speak, describing the exact sequence of events from his point of view. There was yet another pause when he finished speaking and then Giles swore under his breath.

"I'm guessing that's not a good sign," guessed Xander.

"No... no, you could say that," came the reply. "I would hazard a guess that there's a wraith in that cave. Something very different from my initial estimate of a ghost."

Turning around Xander looked at the place in the force where the cave was. "Okay, I'll ask the question: what's a wraith?"

"Wraiths differ from ghosts in that they, they are created by very different forces. A ghost can be... born, as it were, from the circumstances involved in the death of a person. Fear, anger, revenge, and so forth.

"A wraith is born from a combination of those elements, including some that, well, accumulate over time. Fear is a good example. If someone is afraid of, of someone or something over a long period of time, and then dies as the result of violence, that's a very potent combination. It's, it's also a very dangerous combination as the wraith responds to the same emotions in death as in life."

Transferring the phone to his other ear Xander reached out and used the force to make the small book that Doyle had left rise up off the hall table and land on his hand, where he flicked through it. "So if, say, two brothers stole the Cross of the Trinity from this cathedral, rode for their lives across hundreds of miles of desert, arguing 24/7 all the time about what they were going to do with it, while their flunkies dropped dead all around them and then finally stabbed each other to death over it, that might qualify as all the ingredients to make a wraith?"

"Oh yes, undoubtedly. That mix of, violent emotion, fear, hate, greed, desperation, would create quite a powerful one I imagine, one capable of interacting with the world for a limited distance from the place where it resided."

Xander thought for a moment. "That would be the tentacle thingy, right?" "

Oh yes. Although it would only be powerful if it accessed the right emotions. From all accounts your, your demon adversary was terrified when it was facing you and, and Doyle. The wraith would have been able to sense that and act on it. It is fear made manifest, Xander. It, it feeds on fear, it exists on anger. And it can become your worst fear, it can project all kinds of horrors that exist in your mind."

"Aha. Okay, here's the biggie. How do you vanquish these things?"

"Well, there is a certain ceremony that can be performed, but that requires the presence of a sacred relic, a clergyman of some degree of rank and a three-day ritual of purification."

"Giles, I hate to rain on your parade, but we are short all of those things. Or rather there is a relic, but we can't get to it just now and there's no way that I can appear before the Bishop of wherever the hell the nearest cathedral is and ask him to stand in front of a cave for three days. Not without getting locked away in my own padded cell."

"Yes, thank you Xander, I am aware of that. I was going to say that the only other way to destroy a wraith is to unbind it as it were, separate it from the emotions that brought it forth."

"Nope, didn't get that. Say again?"

"To put it crudely, deny it emotions and face up to it. And I'm afraid that this is something that I've never done. Although I imagine that you have access to certain... abilities that are denied to me. And to Buffy for that matter. Your use of the force being one. Sending a Slayer against a wraith, even if she was around," and Xander could feel the deep pain in his voice "Would not be wise, as Slayers are... rather emotional as a whole."

Xander nodded absently. Giles had a point. "Okay, so if I embrace the force – the positive side of it – and push away all those negative vibes, that should keep it at bay or even repel it?"

"Yes, certainly enough to force it back and perhaps even to kill it. This, this is pure speculation however. Xander, if you do enter that cave only do so after intensive preparation. This is no physical confrontation, but a battle of will as it were, your mind will have to be calm against an emotional maelstrom."

Oh great, thought Xander, it's the whole cave on Dagobah scenario. I walk in and fight something that's not really there. Sort of. As Giles would say, bugger. He cleared his throat and said: "Okay, any other advice here?"

"Only that you should be-"

"Extremely careful," Xander chorused with the Watcher. "I will. I'll let you know what happens. Say hi to Wills for me." Putting the phone down he went into the middle of the room and sat down, crossing his legs as he did. This would need a heap of meditation to prepare for. Nuts, he was still tired from the previous night, although he would be able to combine the meditation with the Jedi healing trance, which should take the edge off his weariness. He closed his eyes.

* * *

Hours later he stood on the side of the hill and looked at the cave dispassionately. It looked... odd. Then he realised that despite the fact that it was broad daylight, the sunlight wasn't penetrating the cave entrance.

Was he doing the right thing? He paused and then looked down at Aquila, where it rested on his left hip. In The Empire Strikes Back, Yoda had told Luke that he wouldn't need anything in the cave on Dagobah. Being a Skywalker, the kid had naturally ignored him and had gone in with his lightsabre, only to fail the test. That had been some kind of metaphor – face your fears. Sort of. Maybe. Frankly, thought Xander wryly, my brain isn't really up to analysing this kind of thing. Should he take Aquila in with him? This wasn't just a cave with the dark side in it, like on Dagobah, this was a cave with a wraith thing in it. Giles had said that he had to face it with his mind (although a year ago he probably would have groaned a great deal and told Xander not to go anywhere near it) and that it would not be a physical battle. Hum. Parallels like that between his life and movies gave him goosebumps sometimes.

He looked at the cave and made up his mind. Unclipping Aquila he laid the sword down on the ground and, taking a deep breath, closed his eyes. He pictured Yoda standing in front of him, looking up and pursing his mouth in that determined look. "Fear you feel not. The force you trust, hmmm? Trust in the force and the force will trust in you, yes. Be not afraid. Fear leads to anger, anger leads to hate, hate leads to the dark side. Face your fear and power over you it has not." Opening his eyes again he embraced the force. To his surprise he was perfectly calm and collected. He stepped up to the cave entrance and went in.  
  
It was dark and cold in the cave, despite the heat outside. Some light was penetrating the entrance, but it seemed flat and empty somehow. The air smelt... wrong, somehow stale. He looked around. Snakehead was lying to one side, against one of the rock walls. He was quite dead but seemed unharmed. However, by the look of his eyes he had died in a state of extreme terror. A quiver of fear flashed across Xander's mind and he mercilessly quenched it.

As he did he saw a slow movement start out of the corner of his eye and he turned to face it. The air seemed to be darkening for a moment and for a second he thought that he could see a shape appear near the floor, like a tentacle. Aha, this was the thing that had grabbed snakehead, he thought dispassionately. The tendril vanished and he turned back to look into the cave. He stepped forward.

Something sent a pebble clattering against a rock at the back of the cave and Xander stopped warily. The effort of keeping his mind calm was difficult but wasn't wearing him down. Yet. He peered into the gloom and then looked down as another tendril weaved slowly out of the darkness. It seemed less determined than the one that had snared snakehead the previous night. In fact it seemed downright confused. It wobbled slightly and then groped over the rough stone floor, going one way and then another. When it approached Xander's foot he was easily able to step over it and advance deeper into the cave. He looked around. This had to be the emptiest cave in the middle of the desert ever. Doyle had said that the cave the nasties had stayed in the previous day had contained at least one dead coyote. So far he hadn't even seen a dead bug and he wondered if the local wildlife used those fabled animal senses to stay clear of the wraith.

Another pebble clattered to a halt next to his foot and he stopped. Something was emerging from the shadows in the back of the cave. And this was no tendril. It was big, and human-shaped and... He frowned. It was breathing loudly, almost mechanically... And then Darth Vader stepped out in front of him, his black cape merging with the darkness, the lights on his chest winking and gleaming as that death's head mask glared down at him. His harsh breathing filled the air with sound.

He looked at Vader. Vader looked at him. Then Vader reached for his belt and unclipped his lightsabre. The cave resonated with the hum of the weapon as the red blade sprang into life, lighting the immediate area with a crimson glow. Xander looked at the Dark Lord of the Sith. Or rather the thing pretending to be him. A year ago he would have been a distant dust cloud on the horizon by now, making for the nearest help and probably getting a pitying stare from Willow as she wondered what he was doing under the bed and why he was whimpering.

That was then. This was now and he stared at the figure in front of him. "Nice try," he said, "But the red light on the chestplate should go flick flick and not just flick flash. And you have no imagination at all." This seemed to nonplus Vader for a second. Then he stepped forward and raised the lightsabre.

Time seemed to slow for Xander at that moment, his thoughts flashing with a crystalline brilliance that he later marveled at. He's not Vader, he thought, there's nothing really there. This is a projection created by the wraith, a phantom Vader that looks the part but isn't there. Looking at the pseudo-Vader he found himself wondering for moment what had happened to drive Anakin into such a state of rage, of hate. Where was the young boy he had known under all that armour and black clothing, like a shroud of darkness covering a white light? This is what I'm afraid of, he thought. This figure. All my anger, my distrust of Deadboy, or rather of Angel, my fear that someday something will emerge from the Hellmouth that we can't fight, that we can't vanquish, that we can't kill and which will kill us instead. This is all the snide put-downs directed my way in my life, the sneers from Snyder, the contempt from the jocks because I'm not on the team, whichever team it was. This is my dark side. That is me under there, and that wraith knows it. This is something that only I can face because only I know what makes it tick.

The red blade slashed down, straight at Xander's neck, at an angle designed to shear straight through his shoulder and carve him in two. It stopped dead when Xander reached up and stopped the blade with his right hand.

The sort-of-Vader looked him as if he'd done the impossible and took half a step back in shock. That was not very Sith-like. The blade felt warm in Xander's hand and he could feel it buzz against his skin. He pushed back and freed the blade, forcing Vader back another step.

The dark figure just looked at him for a moment and then the blade flashed again, a horizontal slash at Xander's waist. Again, he stopped it with his bare hand. A flash of glee soared across his mind and again he ruthlessly shut the emotion down. He could do this. Something was happening to the Vader figure now. It seemed a lot less confident and sure of itself and was struggling to free the blade. Xander released it. "Your technique looks a little sloppy," he said dryly, something that seemed to enrage the pseudo-Vader, who lashed out again, with the same result as Xander caught the blade effortlessly.

The figure blurred for a second and then reformed into Vader. Again he attacked, again he was blocked and again he took a step back while Xander moved forward. At every step back the phantom menace seemed to get more and more desperate. Once again it blurred and reformed, but this time it looked a little less coherent than before.

Xander paused and then leant forwards slightly. "I'll let you into a little secret," he said. "I'm nor afraid of you." Vader twisted his head in a very un-Vader like manner. Then he lashed out again with his lightsabre, in spite his previous lack of success. Xander blocked it, grasped it firmly and then pulled it out of the figures grasp, where it disappeared into a twist of smoky darkness. The pseudo-Vader gave a howl of rage and then flickered violently.

When it reformed it was into the image of a man dressed in the archaic dress of the late seventeenth century, only with rents and holes in the cloth of what had once been a fine coat. His boots were covered in dust, his hat looked as it something had sat on it and he was swaying slightly, his thin, unshaven face looking at Xander with wide, unblinking eyes. There was another flicker and his face changed, becoming broader and bearded, with a scar running over his cheek and into one empty eye socket. It had the same unblinking look of incomprehension.

The wraith twisted its head and hissed at him. "Interesting change of clothes. And the face is not an improvement," said Xander, stepping closer. "Juan Cortes I take it? Or are you Miguel? I read the story of your last days." The wraith blinked and hissed again. It seemed less substantial than the Vader-figure it had been earlier and seemed to pulse slightly. Xander took another step forward and the wraith stepped back involuntarily. Then it let out a noise that was half hiss and half scream, its face jumping between the two brothers that it had once been, before leaping forwards, to punch Xander in the face.

Xander didn't flinch as the fist passed straight through him, although the chilly feeling that it left did put his teeth rather on edge. There was no threat here; the thing in front of him was insubstantial. It was enraged and fearful now, terrified of him. It edged back and tried to punch him again, its arm flailing uselessly through its opponent's chest. Again it edged back, teeth showing and stole a hurried look behind, to a place where Xander could see an odd shape against the back of the cave.

The wraith was looking increasingly desperate now and also increasingly hazy as it battled against something or rather someone that it couldn't fight. It moved into action again, swinging fists that passed through Xander and left little more than a chilly sensation against his chest. By now Xander had pressed it back almost to the rear of the cave, where he could see that the shape on the floor was the remains of two men.

Time had not been kind to these bodies and although no scavengers had dared to enter to feed off the bodies, they had been eroded down by decay and the weight of years to a pile of dirty brown bones and scraps of leather and cloth. Corroded metal protruded from the middle of what had once been ribs on the right hand side of the pile. On the other a skull with an ugly line across a cheekbone grinned at the two opponents. And beyond that... there was a worn satchel, obviously brittle with age, which bulged.

The wraith followed his gaze and then howled with fear again before going into a frenzied attack on him, its fists and feet flailing away like an angry octopus. And with each attack it seemed to lose yet more of its shape and coherence. It wasn't until it drew a its fist across its face in preparation for another vain attack that it noticed what was happening to it. It gaped at the growing haziness at the end of its arm and then looked back at Xander.

A dozen emotions flashed over it face, ranging from fear to terror to anger and then to weariness. It looked tired, tired to death and Xander felt a flicker of pity at the terrible unlife it had led for three hundred years. Obviously detecting this emotion the wraith looked up at this, waxing slightly in strength, but then recoiled from him when he imposed absolute control over his mind. It slumped against the wall and looked up at him.

"Muerte," it said, speaking for the first time. "Robar. Pieza. Tablero de ajedrez."

Shaking its head it sank to its knees and then clutched at its head. Then it looked back up at Xander and spoke in heavily accented English: "It... sang... to... me. They... told... me... to take... it... piece... on... the chess... board... red... player."

The wraith flickered violently and when it reappeared it was dim and insubstantial. Then its head went back and it screamed, the noise echoing down the cave, before it shrank in on itself, folding in again and again to a tiny spot of dark light which exploded a sharp 'crack' of noise.

Light flooded into the cave, the first light to enter it in three centuries and Xander winced in reaction as his eyes adjusted. Then he gasped. The dark side was draining out of the cave, like a sewer emptying, and for the first time he was able to relax his grip on the force. It felt... joyful. There was no evil here. He had faced it out.

He squatted down and looked at the old satchel and then, reaching out, he gently brushed the disintegrating fragments of finger bones from the top of it from where one of the brothers had tried to claim the Cross as they died. The leather the satchel was made from was more than just brittle; it too fell apart to reveal a large gold cross. It was plain but beautiful, unadorned by any jewels and it positively sang of the light side of the force. No wonder the brothers' minds had gone kablooie with that thing preying on their thoughts. He reverently picked it up and held it in the crook of his left arm. It was also bloody heavy.

In the process of turning away he looked back when a small noise caught his ear. Something else had emerged from the age-ravaged remains of the satchel. This turned out to be a small pouch, about the size of the palm of his hand. It had weathered the years rather better than the satchel, because it was intact, made of some form of tough hide, with drawstrings keeping it closed at the top. The drawstrings were also leather and these crumbed rapidly when he picked the pouch up. Frowning he shook the contents out onto his hand and then gasped. Gems. Small rubies (he'd gone right off the colour red, he thought), diamonds, emeralds and... a sapphire. Not a small sapphire either, but a large one.

Deeply shaken for the first time that day, he poured the gems carefully back into the pouch and then placed it in his pocket. Making a mental note to come back with two coffins and collect the bones for a decent burial he strode out of the cave.

More time had passed than he had thought, because the sun was going down, its light shining deep into the place where the wraith had lived its tormented existence. Picking up Aquila looked out across the valley at the sun.

He had faced down his dark side, destroyed a wraith by... well, not feeling any emotion, recovered a lost holy artifact and found something that could be used, once it had been properly faceted by an expert, to make a lightsabre. For the first time he felt that he had progressed well down the road to being a Jedi. Lifting the Cross up onto his shoulder he started to walk home.

Not a bad day's work.


	12. Plumbing The Depths Of LA

(Takes a deep breath) Wow, writing this chapter was FUN! Harder than I thought, but it gave me a good excuse to sit and watch Buffy episodes. Heh. Yet more thanks to everyone who has reviewed this little adventure so far, I never thought that it would be so popular. As you can seem this chapter is a little long. That's because I thought that cutting it in half would leave it rather unbalanced. So I kept writing... and writing... and writing... Oh yes and one more thing. (Hands Suzuka Blade a Jedi Xander e-plushie.) Sorry for the delay, and what a great idea!

* * *

The suit was a little baggy around the waist and Xander scowled as he tightened the belt another notch. All the training that he had been doing had given him bulges in some places and gaps in others, one being around his waist. On the one hand he was in excellent physical condition, so much so that Giles had winced when the two had shaken hands that morning. On the other he was going to have to either buy a lot more clothes or gain weight again. Seemed rather strange.  
  
He looked into the mirror one last time and straightened his tie, or rather his Uncle Will's tie. It was reasonably sober and matched the white shirt that Giles had brought up with him from Sunnydale, along with his suit and shoes, neither of which he had worn since Christmas. He hated suits, they made him look like an undertaker. But now, looking at his reflection, he worried that perhaps he needed to take suits more seriously, like the way that he was taking life more seriously. It wasn't every day that you met a bishop.  
  
Or rather, as Giles had pointed out, a bishop without portfolio, a globetrotting emissary of the guy in the white skullcap from Rome. Whom Giles had gone to university with some 20-odd years before. The Bishop that is, not the Pope.  
  
Xander dusted off his shoes and then hurried out of the room. Giles was standing in the lounge, looking out of the window at the desert beyond. Hearing Xander's footsteps he half-turned. "Ah, Xander. Well done, very smart." Turning back to the window he took off his glasses and gestured at the view. "Quite beautiful, in, in a bleak sort of way. And the perfect place for training. You were right, this was the ideal spot. Out of the way and with the kind of terrain ideal for honing the muscles, as it were. And," he popped his glasses back on and looked at Xander again, "The mind, I might add. Your abilities were well suited for the recovery of this lovely thing."  
  
This time the gesture was in the direction of the Cross of the Trinity, which stood on a piece of cloth on the sideboard. The previous day Xander had given it a good polish and now it gleamed for the first time in 300 years.  
  
"Giles," complained Xander plaintively, "Why couldn't we have just dumped the thing in a church and have done with it? All this is making me uneasy. Jedi – even pseudo-Jedi – don't do the whole public thanks thing."  
  
The older man smiled and shook his head. "I hardly think that this is a public ceremony, Xander, more in the way of a quiet meeting on the edge of the desert. A priest of a small church wouldn't have known what to do with such a holy object and it might very well have been stolen again. No, this is a much better way. The Watcher's Council and the Vatican have had semi- formal contact since the Dark Ages, although there was that nasty little rift caused by the Reformation.  
  
"The Catholic Church has been looking for the Cross of the Trinity for some time, and indeed it was feared lost a century ago. Alfredo Camillo and I have been friends for a long time and I trust him to get the Cross back to safety in Rome."  
  
He paused and wandered over to the book that Doyle had left. Picking it up he scowled down at it. "I have my suspicions about this, Xander. About why it was stolen and who employed those demons to find it again. Very dark suspicions."  
  
The faint sound of a car approaching could be heard and he looked up again. "Ah. Punctual as always."

* * *

Don Alfredo Camillo turned out to be short, thin, humourous and positively bursting with emotion at the sight of the Cross. He was accompanied by a tall blond man wearing sunglasses and a look of intense concentration. From the bulge under his left armpit the blond guy was armed and from the bottle of what could only be holy water protruding from his pocket, he knew about things that went bump, or rather 'grr', in the night. Both, Xander could tell from the force, were good guys. In fact Camillo gleamed with the light side.  
  
Camillo had exchanged pleasantries with Giles before fixing Xander with what appeared to be a 10,000-volt charged stare that assessed him, before turning into a twinkle. Then he turned to Giles and muttered something that Xander could barely catch, something about the man being younger than he looked, before swinging back and shaking his hand enthusiastically.  
  
"Rupert here has told me much about what you did. Although," he glanced back at the Watcher, "Not in as much detail as I might have wished. You always were the secretive one, eh, Rupert? But thank God you turned away from the darker parts of yourself. The Church owes you a great debt, Mr Harris, a great debt."  
  
Rather startled at being called Mr Harris, a title he associated with his father, Xander did the only thing that came to him. He returned the handshake and formally bowed, like any good Jedi.  
  
Camillo's eyebrows went up and then he twinkled again at Xander.  
  
"If Rupert has been training you to be a Watcher, then I can only say that he has done well. The recovery of the Cross has long been thought impossible. In fact it was thought melted down and lost. But now it has been found and..." He looked over to the blond hulk in the corner of the room who walked forward, holding a small briefcase that Xander hadn't noticed. Lifting it up the bodyguard – or whatever the hell he was – opened it and held it out. Camillo reached out and picked up a small green box, which he opened. Inside was a small silver crucifix of exquisite workmanship. Camillo picked it up and held it out.  
  
"His Holiness asked me to give this to you, with his thanks. It is only a small token of our gratitude, but it should allow you to repel the... um... more unpleasant inhabitants of your town."  
  
Shocked for the first time in months Xander looked at Camillo and then at Giles, who nodded with a small smile on his face.  
  
Camillo caught this and twinkled yet again. "Mr Harris, the Slayer and her friends are never alone. We know what you do. Many would disbelieve, but some of us have seen the things that hunt in the night."  
  
Clearing his throat Xander nodded. "Thank you," he said and picked up the crucifix. It was a lovely little thing.  
  
Camillo nodded in satisfaction. Then he gestured at the Cross and the bodyguard walked over and picked it up effortlessly. Turning, Camillo shook hands again with Xander and then kissed Giles on both cheeks, something that the normally very formal Englishman seemed to take in his stride. "I will tell Maria that I have seen you," the small clergyman said to the Watcher. "My sister often asks after you. She will be pleased that you are well."  
  
Was that the faintest hint of a blush Xander could see on the Watcher's cheeks? Giles smiled fondly, asked to be remembered to Maria, and then the two guests were gone. "Maria?" asked Xander as they watched the car drive off to a private airfield for the trip back to Rome.  
  
Giles coughed. "Yes, well, I wasn't always middle-aged, Xander. Very lithesome she was."  
  
"I so do not want to hear that."  
  
They walked back into the house, Xander loosening his tie as he did so. Looking down at the crucifix he marveled again at the workmanship.  
  
"I believe it's from the 17th Century," said Giles, smiling. "And quite valuable. Useful, too. So, Xander, have you finished your training yet? The ability to take down a wraith is, is quite impressive."  
  
Sighing, Xander sat down. "Yes and no, Giles. I've gone as far as I can but there are some things that I just can't finish off. I can go all Jedi-like, but it just feels... incomplete. I've gone a long way though. And..." he reached into his trouser pocket and pulled out the pouch. "I need some help again here."  
  
With that he emptied the contents onto the table. The gems spilled out, winking and gleaming in the light. Then there was the melodious clunk as the sapphire skittered out. Giles gaped. Then he closed his mouth and tilted his head. "Yes... um, well," he muttered, "Sorry, you need my help how?"  
  
"This load of rocks was in the bag that held the Cross. I think that our merry Spanish brothers had been naughty even before they stole it. So now I need to... well, get rid of them. Apart from the sapphire."  
  
"Pardon me for being obvious, Xander, but why not just sell them? And why not the sapphire – it seems to be worth a great deal of money. In fact, there's a substantial amount of money here."  
  
Xander picked up the sapphire and bounced it thoughtfully on the palm of his hand. "The sapphire... I have a ludicrously optimistic plan for this thing. Probably never come off, but hey, if you don't try you don't get. As for the gems... I really don't think I need money at the moment. Oh it might be nice but... it seems wrong somehow. I don't believe I just said that, but what's one more wacky statement worth these days? No, if I can pass them on somewhere where they can do some good... and I can't believe that I said that either. It would just seem..." he visibly struggled to find the right word, "Wrong."  
  
Giles directed a long and very level look at him. Then he sat down and polished his glasses again. When he glanced up again he smiled. "You have come a very long way in a very short time, Xander. I will confess that I doubted if you would progress even half as far as you have so far, and you seem set to, to continue to surprise me. If you were my son I would be extremely proud of you.  
  
"That is to not to say that your family should be left out of this windfall. If I might make a suggestion, sell the gems, give half the money to charity and the other half to your family. Although I believe that your father got an apparently long-overdue promotion this month, primarily I believe because he thinks that he needs to measure up to what you have achieved so far, I think that a little additional money would come in very handy. It has been my experience that life can be deeply unpredictable at times and a financial cushion for your loved ones can sometimes be surprisingly beneficial. Set up a bank account with a decent rate of interest in your mother's name. As a Jedi I know that lying isn't exactly your cup of tea, but I'm not a Jedi and I can make up something suitably... plausible on your behalf."  
  
Xander paused to mull this over. It fitted together. Money for the family and money to do good. He nodded slowly. "Okay. But make sure that my Uncle Rory doesn't find out about it will you? He'd spend it all on peach schnapps, fast cars and hookers."  
  
"Of course," replied the Watcher. "Although this presumes that you are able to sell the gems easily. I don't know of any easy... um, legitimate way that doesn't involve proof of ownership. And you can hardly say that you retrieved them from the bodies of two Spanish hidalgos who murdered each other in the desert in 1694, can you?  
  
"Plus, I might also add that you are due back in High School in two days' time."  
  
This gave Xander a shock. Had the summer gone that quickly? He cast his mind back and winced. Yes it had. Which meant that he had essentially not a lot of time left, especially as Uncle Will was due back tomorrow. Nuts.  
  
"Okay," he said slowly. "Well, it was a good summer. Much Jedi-inspired training, with inadvertent demony interventions." He looked down at the gems again. Right then. He need to get rid them by illicit means. Well, not exactly illicit, just on that fine dividing line between legality and the murkier depths that lay just in front of illegality.  
  
He grinned. He knew just the person. "Giles, I need a ride to the bus depot."

* * *

Bob was hungry. He was also desperate. This was not a good. A hungry, desperate, Bob often took chances in his quest to get a good meal. In the past that had once led to a rampaging lynch mob in New York, a lynch mob that he had barely escaped. Bad things happened when he was hungry and desperate.  
  
The sun had gone down just under an hour ago and his favourite hunting street was almost deserted. It tended to fill up by about 11pm, when a victim could be pulled off the street without anyone noticing but that was hours away and the hunger for some warm blood was just too much to resist.  
  
The street wasn't totally deserted though and Bob found himself wandering behind two men as they strolled down along the sidewalk, laughing at a joke the older one, who seemed to be Irish, was telling. The joke also involved a lot of waving of hands and what appeared to be silly voices. Looking ahead he could see that a streetlight had broken close to an alleyway, leaving a deep pool of shadow. Perfect. Walk closer, bang the human's heads together, drag them into the alleyway and drain all the blood from their bodies. He almost smacked his lips in anticipation.  
  
As they approached the shadows he started to lengthen his stride, morphing into his vampiric face and reaching out with his hands, keen to hear the crack of bone on bone...  
  
They entered the shadows and the wheels fell off his plan straight away. For one thing the Irish guy suddenly turned on his heel, his face transforming as it suddenly grew lots of blue spines. The other, younger, 'victim' moved faster than his eyes could follow, diving off to one side, twisting as he rolled almost in mid air, his arm coming around to thump into Bob's chest.  
  
There was a sharp pain and Bob looked down to see a wooden stake protruding from his chest. "Oh, shi..."

* * *

Xander looked at the cloud of rapidly disappearing dust and shook his head. "What a loser," he muttered. "I felt him coming a hundred yards away."  
  
Doyle shook his face back into human mode and looked at him quizzedly. "You never told me how you can feel demons and vampires from a distance," he said.  
  
"Lots of practice and you would so not believe the story of my life," replied Xander with a grim smile. "I'll tell you when you have a few hours to spare."  
  
"Ah, sounds like an epic."  
  
"Trust me, it is. Hellmouths, spells, and all the fun of the fair. Not."  
  
The half Brachen demon nodded slowly and the two walked on. Xander's arrival had come as somewhat of a surprise, but Doyle had listened gravely to his request for advice on getting rid of some... property. Which, when he had asked what and Xander had spilled the gems onto his hand, begged the question: "Holy Mother of God, where d'ya get those beauties from?"  
  
Xander had told him. When Doyle had stopped boggling in disbelief, not to mention staring at a man who could take down a wraith, he mentioned that he just happened to know of a man – sorry, demon – who owned a gem smiths shop not too far away. More importantly he didn't ask awkward questions and he kept his mouth shut. Come to think of it, Doyle thought, he couldn't remember the old demon stringing more than a dozen words together, which had kicked in his own ability to babble every time a pause in the conversation came up.  
  
Now they were almost there, and Xander kept looking around with a distracted air.

* * *

Xander could feel Buffy on his Slayer-scope. She wasn't close, but he could feel her presence in a northwest sort of direction. She felt... directionless. Lost. Grieving. And dangerously apathetic, like an old watch that had not been wound, although that was not a metaphor that he intended to say out loud any time soon.  
  
The problem was that, well, he was getting a lot of interference, as it were. LA was not a nice place. Although there were areas where the light side held sway there were also patches dominated by the dark side, great horrible sewers of darkness. His bus had driven past one of these places – a large building, with a terraced effect to its front and big glass windows. He hadn't been able to catch what the sign outside it had said, but the place was stinking with the dark side.  
  
And there had been other places, some almost as bad, some just odd and twisted. He was getting a very strange reading from the force from one spot in the same rough direction as Buffy. It was as if there was a hole in the world that lead down to a pit full of... of... he wasn't sure but it stank of pain and sweat and blood. It was a little bit like the feeling he'd had when Acathla had been activated, but far smaller and very confined.  
  
The net effect of this skanky darkness was that he couldn't locate Buffy exactly. Not without traveling around LA more and trying to home in on her, but he had no idea how long that would take. He was frustrated by this, but there was nothing he could do.  
  
As they came to a small shop that had a faint light glowing inside Doyle stopped and jerked his finger at it. "There ya go. Thorne's. Just tell him what you need."  
  
Xander looked up. "You're not going in with me?"  
  
"Nah, you don't need my help for this. Besides the guy gives me a creepy feeling. Not creepy-bad, he's just a man of few words and whatever I do, I put both my feet in my mouth every time I open it whenever he's around. And when I babble, he deploys these long terrible silences. He's almost as bad as Father Stone back home. Terrible man that priest is. No, I'm just going to skulk out here while you do some dealing in there."  
  
Nodding and keeping a straight face at the thought of Doyle skulking, Xander walked up to the door of the building and, pushing it open, walked in. It was a little gloomy inside, with glass-topped cases along three sides of what was a largish room. However, whatever was in the cases beneath the glass was hidden from view by an odd, smoky, darkness. Obviously a spell to discourage thieves, thought Xander as he walked up to the longest case, behind which was a door.  
  
As he approached there was a low chime from somewhere above him. He heard a scuff of feet and the door opened to reveal a medium-sized figure in a suit that had obviously seen far better days. Huddled within said suit was something that looked human-ish but wasn't. For one thing, humans didn't have an eye in the centre of their foreheads and for another their ears didn't twitch madly at the slightest sound. Xander couldn't detect much from using the force. A little good, a little evil and a little... irritability? He looked old, possibly freeze-dried, and was directing a long slow stare at Xander. He also wasn't blinking.  
  
"Can I help you? I am Thorne."  
  
Xander pulled out the little bag and placed it on the counter. Opening it he carefully poured the contents onto the glass. "You came recommended," he said evenly, "As someone who could help me get a good price for these."  
  
The old demon pursed his lips slightly as he considered the gems. Then he pulled out a jeweler's magnifying glass, put it in front of his third eye, somehow scrunched his forehead up to hold it in place and inspected the gems minutely.  
  
"Yes," he said eventually, straightening up and removing the object from his eye. "Very nice. I can make you a good offer on these. Would you mind if I asked you where you got them from? It's just that in my line of business you have to be very careful, and although I can't detect a curse on them, it would be necessary to make sure."  
  
Detecting nothing but curiosity from Thorne, Xander nodded. "I got them from a cave. They'd been there for several centuries. A wraith was guarding the place, but it's gone now."  
  
Thorne narrowed his eyes and directed another searching gaze at him. "A wraith is a very evil thing, Mr?"  
  
"Harris. Xander Harris."  
  
"Hm. Mr Harris. But there seems to have been no taint from it." He paused, pulled out a pad and pen, scribbled something on it and passed the pad over. Xander had to embrace the force there and then so as not to react, as the pad had a price on it that made his cash-starved Harris side cackle insanely. His Jedi side smiled quietly at the thought of what half of that could achieve for the list of charities that Giles had pulled together.  
  
Nodding he passed the pad over. "Oh and there's something else. Do you facet gems?"  
  
Thorne looked surprised at this. "Yes," he replied. "What do you wish me to do?"  
  
Putting his hand into his pocket Xander pulled out the sapphire, which winked softly in the dim light.  
  
The old demon leant forward and looked at it with professional delight. "A quite lovely gemstone. Yet you wish me to facet it?"  
  
Xander's hand went into his other pocket and he pulled out a drawing, which he spread on the counter. It was of the sapphire, but with some small changes. Angles and degrees were carefully noted in one corner of the piece of paper, along with a notation that everything had to be exact, to within very tight specifications.  
  
Frowning with concentration Thorne bent over the drawing, before, with an upraised eyebrow to ask permission, comparing it to the sapphire.  
  
Finally he straightened up. "Fascinating," he muttered. "Yes, I can do this. It will require very high standards of precision. A challenge."  
  
Xander let out a small sigh of relief. Then he looked at the old demon again. "How much will it cost? And how long will it take?"  
  
He received a wave of the hand in response as the gem smith thought deeply. "Normally I charge for faceting, but this is a challenge that intrigues me. I have not been set a truly high standard for many decades, as the degree of precision here calls for. Um... my only charge for this is to be allowed to keep the chips from the faceting process. And it will take... um... two days. Forty-eight hours to be precise. I will be able to sell your other gems on at the same time."  
  
They shook hands to clinch the deal and then Xander left. The guy was a little creepy, but he reminded him of Giles, once he had his teeth into a research problem. Not obsessive, but pretty damn close.  
  
"Okay," he said, approaching Doyle, who was leaning against a lamppost and whistling an odd tune. "Guy says two days to do everything. Time for me to pack up and move on home."

* * *

When Xander's father drew up to the house the next afternoon, Xander blinked at the sight of the man. Tony Harris had lost yet more weight and looked... like he had ten years ago, before he had let himself go rather badly. He had also shaved that morning, something he tended to do rather infrequently sometimes. Tony did some blinking of his own when he saw Xander. The boy had developed some muscles and had a look about him that spoke of a newfound maturity. Will had mentioned the fact that Xander was keeping fit at the place when they had talked on the telephone that morning. He hadn't expected Xander to be that fit though.  
  
Tossing his stuff in the car, Xander said goodbye to Will, who had turned up that morning and had been pleasantly surprised at the fact that the house was both still standing and actually tidy.  
  
His father had never been much for conversations whilst driving, but on the trip back to Sunnydale he had made the effort, talking about what the summer had been like, about how Xander's mom had been, how she had finally got Rory off the peach schnapps and onto beer instead and how he'd finally got that promotion at the store. Xander had beamed at him, happy that his father was feeling much happier and the miles had rolled by effortlessly.  
  
Xander was even more surprised when they got back home. His mother had also lost weight and the faint listlessness about his parents had gone. He did not want to speculate how they had reignited their marriage. The thought made him want to make 'ewww' noises and shudder.  
  
He had changed into some more formal clothing at their request and then all three had gone to a nearby restaurant to celebrate his father's promotion. It was a small Italian place, not very expensive but at the same time not dirt cheap, like the last place they'd had a meal the previous year, which had served rubbery spaghetti and meatballs that could have been used to take down demons.  
  
It had been thoroughly unnerving and not at all Harris-family-like. But Xander felt happy about being unnerved in that way.  
  
Normal Hellmouth service had kicked in when they got back home. Xander quietly retrieved Aquila from his wardrobe, announced that he was off to see Willow and slipped out of the door.  
  
Finding his bestest bud was easy, as he stretched out with the force. She and Oz were sitting in a cemetery on the junction of Third and Macarthur. Not the most romantic of places, mused Xander, until he also sensed Giles there. Damn, he thought, they're waiting for a fledgling to make an appearance, I'll bet. He loosened Aquila in its sheath and quickened his walk.

* * *

Willow hit the ground hard enough to see stars and kicked out madly. The vampire that had been about to leap on her clutched at a vital piece of his anatomy and screamed loudly, before looking up and knocking the approaching Oz over two headstones with a negligent backhand. Then it looked around and glared, weeping highly pained tears of agony.  
  
This was so not good, thought Willow desperately. Giles was still cross- eyed from being punched in the face earlier on and had been thrown somewhere, while her plan to taunt the grry one with a Buffy-like comment had not come out right at all. What sounded right for the Slayer came out sounding a little goofy for the redhead. Oz was doing his best, but her honey was not exactly Arnold Schwarzennegger, dearly though she loved him. Grabbing the stake by her hand she struggled to her feet and stabbed the hunched vampire in the chest. However, instead of exploding into dust, it just let out another angry swearword. She'd missed the heart. Not good, she thought, so not good.  
  
The vampire plucked the stake from its chest, threw it to one side and hissed at her, its right arm coming back to deliver what would probably be the killer blow and Willow fell backwards over her feet, letting out a fearful squeak and then...  
  
Something swished through the air and suddenly the vampire was just standing there, gaping at her. Then it's head fell off its body and the whole thing dissolved into dust. Standing behind it was Xander, holding that sword of his in a combat-type kind of pose. He looked tanned and very muscley. Smiling a quiet smile he leant down and held his arm out for her to use to lever herself back upright.  
  
"Xander!" she squeaked and her oldest friend winced slightly.  
  
"Wills, I think there's a bat near Pasadena that didn't hear you. Please don't squeak like that, it's painful."  
  
"I'm sorry," she babbled, "But Xander! It's you! And you're all muscley! You went off to the desert and now you're back and what was it like, was it all Dagobah-y? Have you done the whole training and floaty-rock stuff?"  
  
Xander smiled fondly at her and then walked over to help Oz up. "I told you that e-string was gonna break," the werewolf said dazedly and then he shook his head to clear it. "Hey," he finally said in greeting, blinking at the sight of Xander.  
  
"Hey," replied Xander. "And..." he used the force to summon the stake that Willow had been using to his hand. "Yes, Wills. It worked. I'm not a full Jedi yet, but I'm more than a Padawan."  
  
"Cool," said Oz. There was a rustle behind them and Giles fell out of a bush clutching a crossbow with a broken bolt in it.  
  
"Don't bother helping me up," the Watcher said caustically, "I get thrown into bushes by angry vampires all the time, it's a doddle." Then he blinked as Xander approached, reaching out with the force to make sure that he was not seriously hurt. "Ah, Xander. Good to see that you made it back alright. Were, were you successful?"  
  
Xander grasped the Watcher's forearm and pulled him upright with very little effort. "Yup," he confirmed. "I'll have to be back in LA tomorrow night to pick it up." He looked back at Willow, who was brushing bits of moss and grass off her boyfriend. "So tell me, what's been happening in the land of Sunnydale while I was off in desert-Dagobah?"  
  
Willow took a deep breath and started to talk at nineteen times to the dozen as they wandered out of the cemetery, Yup, thought Xander, some things don't change.

* * *

A day later he was having the same thoughts as he walked down the same street as before in Los Angles with Doyle again. Didn't we just do this, he thought wryly. Life was being kooky again, as Willow would say. After a day back at school, during which he was glared at by Snyder and gaped at by Cordelia and Larry ("When the hell did Harris do over the summer to get muscles?" seemed to be the topic on many people's lips) he was busy reflecting on how weird life was. He was an almost-Jedi, living on the mouth of hell, where his best friend was a witch, her boyfriend was a werewolf and they helped the Vampire Slayer to save the world on a regular basis. And attend high school. What a combination.  
  
They continued to wander, Doyle telling a rather interesting story about his cousin Theresa and a Welshman she once went out with. After a while, when they had both finished laughing, Doyle looked around. "Man, this is dull," he said. "You should have told me that he's said forty-eight hours to do the job. He means exactly that length of time. If we turn up now, then all he'll do is ignore us until he's finished."  
  
He paused and looked around again at the street sign. "Hang on a second. There's a place around here I've heard of. Demon bar that welcomes humans. I've never been there before, but I've heard it's good. I can have a beer, you can have something non-alcoholic as you're a minor and you can stop disguising that sword you're carrying."  
  
Looking down at Aquila, which was heavily disguised inside an umbrella, Xander sighed, He still wasn't sure why he had brought his sword. He had just been getting ready to get to the bus station when he had automatically picked it up and stuffed it inside an old golfing umbrella that had seen better days. He just had had this feeling that it would be needed. But he didn't know where in the name of the force that feeling had come from.  
  
They wandered down a side street, crossed a main road, went down another side street and finally came to a set of stairs leading down into a building. By the hum of conversation and the sound of people singing, the joint was rocking. Xander looked up at the sign as they went in. Caritas. Wasn't that Latin? He shrugged.  
  
The first thing that he saw when they entered the bar was a demon. In fact the second, third and fourth things he saw were demons. Plus humans and the odd vampire, all milling around, talking, drinking and watching the stage where something blue and fluffy was singing a surprisingly good version of Sting's "Fields of gold". Xander boggled. Something green appeared out of the corner of his eye and he turned to see a green-skinned demon, with small red horns protruding from his forehead and dressed in what had to be a razor sharp powder blue suit, wander over to them.  
  
"Hi," said this apparition. "Sorry, but you're going to have to check your sword at the bar, sweet cheeks. Not that you can use against anyone in here, but we had this Vorolas demon in here a month ago with his broadsword and man! the juice that flew around when he sliced up the food he'd brought! Took me an age to get it out of my tie."  
  
"Okay," said Xander and walked over to the bar, where a very competent looking man exchanged Aquila for a small ticket with a number on it. When he walked back he discovered Doyle deep in conversation with the demon. As he approached, blue and fluffy finished the song, to a great deal of applause. The demon looked up at the stage. "Sorry, but I've got to go," he said. "Beryl's waiting for her prediction and she gets awfully testy when she's kept waiting. Toodles!" And he went off to confer with the thing.  
  
Doyle pointed to a free table and the pair sat down. "This place," the half- Brachen demon said, "Is something else ain't it? I was just talking to The Host over there, the green guy. He was telling me that no violence is allowed in here thanks to a spell. Very civilised. I've been to bars that resembled war zones by the end of the night." He looked at the bar and caught the eye of one of the waitresses, who shimmied over. "A Bud and an orange juice," he ordered, after asking Xander what he wanted to drink. Then he went on: "The Host was saying that they get all sorts singing up there."  
  
"A demon bar that's also a karaoke bar," mused Xander. "Interesting, in an totally insane way."  
  
"You haven't heard the last of it," smiled Doyle, grabbing his beer as the waitress returned to their table with the drinks. "The Host is... well, he sees and hears you sing and he can see your future, they say. Not in full technicolour detail, but enough for you to know something about it."  
  
Fascinated, Xander looked over at the stage. The blue thing had vanished and The Host was watching something with far too many eyes for comfort inflict grievous bodily harm on "I will always love you". By the way that he kept wincing at the duff notes he was not enjoying the process but he kept looking at the singer.  
  
Xander had not experimented yet with using the force to explore the past or the future. It was a dangerous thing to do as you could get the wrong end of the stick entirely if you lacked the correct context to interpret the vision. A good example was what had happened to Buffy the previous year. Convinced that to stop the Master from getting free and killing her, she had gone to stop him by confronting him in his prison. However, by defeating and (temporarily) killing her, the Master was able to gain enough strength to break free of his prison. It was a self-fulfilling prophecy. He suspected that he was going to need a great deal of time and practice to get the hang of the whole looking-through-time thing. For someone else to do the analysis though... this was interesting.  
  
The Host was now talking to the multi-eyed thing, while the stage was empty. Doyle noticed Xander staring at the stage, followed his look and took a contemplative swig of beer. "Ah, what the hell," he muttered and stood up. "My ex-wife had her faults but even she said I could sing." Grinning at Xander he walked up onto the stage, picked up the microphone and had a whispered conversation with the Host, who seemed to be answering a question.  
  
"Okay, folks, we have a first-timer here tonight! So please give a great Caritas welcome to Doyle, who's going to sing an old favourite of mine!" exclaimed the Host and walked off the stage.  
  
Doyle put his shoulders back, said something off the microphone. As the music kicked in he started to sing U2's "With or without you" – and Host stiffened slightly and watched him intently.  
  
When Doyle finished what was an extremely good rendition of the song the Host beckoned him to one side, and then spoke to him in a quiet corner for some time. When they were finished Doyle walked slowly back to the table. He was very pale. He was also very thoughtful. "Time to stand up and be counted," he muttered and downed the rest of his beer. Then he looked up at Xander. "I think I just chose a side. To fight for the light." But he refused to answer Xander's questions after that, saying simply that the Host had seen something that he was not going to run away from.  
  
Looking worriedly at Doyle, Xander glanced back at the stage. Judging from what Doyle had said, he had been given a glimpse of the future. Did he want to risk seeing his own? Did he even have one, what with living on the Hellmouth? And what in the name of merciful heaven could he sing?  
  
He mulled it over. Music was something he loved, but he wondered what was appropriate now for an almost-Jedi. He paused and then looked over to Doyle, who was starting his second bottle of beer.  
  
"How do you choose the music?" he asked. "I mean what if the song you want isn't on the system?"  
  
"There isn't one," replied Doyle absently, his eyes far away on something that he couldn't quite see. "You just say the name of the song and the singer or band and some spell kicks in and starts to play it."  
  
"Ooookay," muttered Xander, making his mind up. "Let's do this." Standing and walking up to the side of the stage he attracted the Host's attention. The green-skinned demon walked over. "You going to sing?" he asked.  
  
Xander nodded.  
  
"Okay kid. What's your name?"  
  
"Xander. Short version of Alexander."  
  
"Cute. Very Greek. Okay Xanderoony, you're up. Just say the name of the song and the author when you're up there and then heigh-ho Silver!"  
  
As the Host introduced him, Xander stood deep in thought. He had a song in mind that was... highly appropriate. Looking up he said quietly: "Secret World. By Peter Gabriel," and then listened as the music started. When his cue arrived he started to sing.  
  
When he finished the bar gave him a more than decent round of applause, with even Doyle, who seemed to have recovered from his thoughtful mood, standing up and cheering. As he stepped down he glanced at the Host. To his shock the demon was pale green, was visibly shaking and had a hand clutched to the side of his head. He jerked his head in the direction of a private room off to one side and Xander followed him.  
  
When they were both in what appeared to be a private office the Host closed the door and sagged against it. Then he forced himself upright and staggered over to the desk, where he poured himself a very stiff drink from a drinks cabinet that stood next to it.  
  
"Wow," he said weakly. "Where the hell did you get all that stuffed in your head? I mean damn! George Lucas is going to be just pissed that someone has ridden a horse and cart through his copyright. I've never had a Jedi Knight sing here before. Hell, I've never had a Jedi Knight in here period."  
  
He threw half a glass of something blue down his throat, coughed briefly and then pulled out two pieces of paper, an envelope and a pen. Writing swiftly he scrawled something down on each piece of paper, placed one in the envelope, sealed it, wrote on that too and then stood up and walked over to Xander.  
  
"Okay, Kenobi-kins, and yes I saw that too, there isn't much time so I'm going to give you the short and snappy version. Trust yourself, and don't even think of making any links between Yoda and me. I'm taller, much better looking, a lot younger and my grammar isn't all jumbled up. You're going to have a lot to deal with over the next few years. Padawans for a start. One will be easy to train and the other is going to be halfway down the road to the dark side before you even start. But train them you will. Don't worry about it. Don't forget, you are NOT Kenobi. You're Xander and you've already seen the perils of the dark side. Remember that and they won't go all tall black and lurky, not to mention that terrible breathing problem.  
  
"Two more things. First, take this." The Host handed over an envelope. The date "10pm 2nd October" was written on the front. "Open it on that date next month. Not before. Don't ask me why, my vision's are never normally that time-specific. Why this one is, I don't know. Gave me a hell of a headache. Final thing. There's a friend of yours here in LA. A Slayer. Very troubled little blond bombshell. Tonight she's going to be in trouble a long way from here. Not quite in a galaxy far, far away, but in a hell dimension. You need to be there if she's going to get out. You'll find her in a homeless shelter two miles away. She met someone yesterday who is not what he appears to be. Here's the address." And he handed over the second piece of paper. "You need to get going. Good luck, good-looking. And may the force be with you."

* * *

Xander exploded out of the office, grabbed Doyle, retrieved Aquila and shot out of Caritas quickly, looking at the piece of paper. Then he turned to face Doyle, who was looking confused and still clutching his bottle of beer. "We need to go to this place. Right now," he said, trusting the paper at Doyle, who took it with a frown.  
  
"This place is a few miles away," he said, confused. "Xander, what's going on?"  
  
"Friend of mine is in trouble, according the Host back there. The Slayer to be exact."  
  
Doyle choked on his beer and stared at Xander. "The Slayer's in LA? And she's in trouble? End of the world trouble?"  
  
"No, just ordinary demony trouble. Which way?"  
  
Doyle pointed. "That way. Worth running?"  
  
Xander nodded. "That or a very fast saunter."  
  
As they hurried up the road Xander reached out with the force to get a reading on Buffy. She felt... different. The apathetic air of hopelessness had shifted slightly. Oh the sadness was still there, but there was a certain determination about her that said a great deal. She was also irritated and... off to one side? He could feel her more exactly now as they were obviously approaching her and he wondered what to say if they met. 'Hi, sorry you stabbed your lover through the chest to stop the end of the world, but we need you back in Sunnydale' seemed massively inadequate.  
  
Breaking into a jog-trot they rushed on. Doyle was panting with exertion now, but Xander was still fresh. Running through LA was easy compared to the desert. Slowing down to cross a major intersection they turned a corner and ran on.  
  
The closer they got to the address the more Xander was certain that they were approaching the place where he had felt that odd dark side vibe two days before, the one where it felt as if there was a hole in the world. Given the Host's comments back there he would lay good odds that the vibe was coming from a portal to a hell dimension. Damn demons, always messing with the whole space-time continuum. Why not just install a revolving door?  
  
He noticed something else as they went along. Every now and then they would pass alleyways where huddled figures were sleeping, or trying to sleep. Other pathetic figures were wandering the streets. All were old and broken down. All felt... lost, as if all the life had been drained out of them. And many were muttering: "I'm no-one... no-one..." It was too much of a coincidence. There had to be a connection between the people and the place.  
  
When the building came into sight they stopped for a moment to look for the front door. "Right," said Xander, reaching out with the force, "Four humans, no, five. And a demon." He pulled a face. "Yeuch, quite a nasty one. Very driven. Very ruthless."  
  
He turned to see Doyle staring at him. Okay, he owed the guy the truth. "Long story. Short version is: chaos mage, enchanted costumes, Halloween, possession, Obi-Wan Kenobi costume, Jedi Knight on the Hellmouth, me. Got that?"  
  
"Not really, but I think I understand," said a shocked Doyle. Xander grinned and then looked to one side. Fifty yards away a small blond woman was walking up to the door of the homeless shelter. She looked very irritated. Knocking on the door she waited until it opened, said something to the man behind it, did not receive the right answer and then kicked it open.  
  
"There she is," he breathed. Doyle did his second double take in as many minutes.  
  
"That's the Slayer? She's tiny!" he said as Buffy vanished into the building.  
  
"Size matters not," replied Xander. "She could break down that wall if she wanted to. I think she wants to as well. Follow me." He unsheathed Aquila and tossed the scabbard to Doyle.  
  
As they approached the door, Xander could see the man who had talked to Buffy staggering back to his feet. His nose was bleeding and his eyes were crossed. He also stank of standard, every-day evil. As he stood all the way up Xander stepped through the door, swung his fist and knocked him unconscious again.  
  
Buffy had obviously laid her own unique trail of destruction in the seconds that she had been in the place, because the door in front of them was also hanging off its hinges and two more men were sprawled on the floor with various contusions. Yup, the Slayer was being tetchy. The hole in the world was very close now, maybe in the next room. This close it felt vile, like a sinkhole leading to somewhere dark and terrible. Sweaty too, for some reason.  
  
He looked up as he heard raised voices and then suddenly one of the humans he could feel in the building – a good one, an innocent – vanished. Not dead, just no longer there. Cursing Xander hurried on, Doyle following with a baseball bat that he had picked up off one of the guards. They could hear the sound of a scuffle and then as they burst into a room they saw Buffy and a dark-haired man who wasn't a man, but rather the ruthless demon that Xander had detected earlier, struggling together as they fell into what looked like a pool filled with black oil... and vanished.  
  
"I'm guessing that's not water," muttered Doyle behind him.  
  
"Portal," said Xander. "There's a hell dimension down there." He looked around swiftly, using the force to probe the building. "Okay, there's just those sleeping beauties out there in this place. Tie them up or hit them again if they wake up. Keep everyone away from this thing. I'm going in to help Buffy."  
  
"Are you out of your mind? There's a hell dimension down there!" objected Doyle.  
  
Xander looked at him and grinned. "She'd do the same for me. And as a Jedi it's my duty to stand into harms way if it means protecting someone. See you later."  
  
Embracing the force fully he stepped to the lip of the pool and jumped in.  
  
The transition between the dimensions was short and swift and it was like falling through water. Beneath the surface was a large room and Xander used the force to slow his descent a little before landing and moving into a defensive pose. This was freaky. The room should have held Buffy, the demon and the human who had gone through. Instead it was empty, except for a smear of something on the concrete floor. He jabbed experimentally with his finger and felt what appeared to be glue. Hum. Interesting.  
  
The force felt a little odd down here, but he was still able access it. Reaching out he located Buffy. Okay, freaky 2. She was several hundred metres away. Along with... he winced. There were around a hundred people here, all exhausted, all drained of hope. And some were drained of more than that, they felt... empty. Like the street people from earlier.  
  
He frowned, remembering a random comment that Giles had once made about the fact that time often ran differently in separate dimensions when compared to Earth. That might explain the absence of Buffy when he had dropped in. Mere seconds on earth could be minutes or hours on Earth.  
  
People were being brought here... for what? There were also a lot of demons. Yuck. This lot were hard, merciless and very cruel. And two of them were approaching the room. Gripping Aquila in both hands he moved to the doorway on the far wall and waited. A moment later two red-skinned demons with slashes on their faces and dressed in black leather walked in and stared up at the portal. "What came through?" the one on the right asked. When his companion gave a surprised grunt in response, the demon turned to look at him. He was staring down at the sword that was protruding through his chest. Then it vanished and Xander stepped out from behind the collapsing demon and lopped the surviving one's head off.  
  
Checking to see that no-one had heard the small fracas Xander glanced cautiously out of the door and then moved smoothly down the corridor. It was getting increasingly noisy and he turned a corner to come to a railing over looking some sort of huge room. He looked out into a vision of industrial hell. The place seemed to be a huge foundry, with chains leading to pulleys running from the floor to the ceiling. Huge machines spat glittering sparks everywhere as they cut, hammered and melted metal, fed by the staggering shapes of humans dressed in simple smocks. There were guards everywhere, shepherding prisoners here and there. They were not gentle about it. It all looked very bad.  
  
Xander looked around. There was an opening to another room further down and judging by the sounds and the flying sparks, that place was similar to this. The machines explained why they needed the humans. Slaves. Slaves to be worked to death or until they were too old and broken to be of any use. And then to be abandoned on the streets of LA. Xander winced. Hell was the right word for this place. Well, then. Time to find Buffy and stick a spanner in the works. What an appropriate metaphor, he thought.  
  
As he slipped down a metal staircase, keeping in the shadows he reached out with the force again, seeking out Buffy. Whoa. She felt different again. She was very angry and determined now and suddenly... Xander grinned. She felt very Slayery, if there was such a word. The sadness had receded a little – it was still there, but no longer as hard and dominating. But it looked like Buffy had her mojo back. Which was good. She'd need it to get out of this place.  
  
She was over there... but as Xander made his way towards her he heard a soft sobbing from one side. Turning his head he saw a corridor off to one side, lined with heavily barred doors. There were people in the cells there. Lost people, despairing people, people with little will to live. There was also a very large guard with a whip that had dark encrustations on the end of it. Dried blood. A lot of it. He walked into the corridor. Noticing the movement the guard looked up at Xander's approach through small and beady eyes behind a leather mask, and then stood up to loom menacingly over him.  
  
"What are you doing here, scum?" he barked at the human. "If you're not on a work detail you're supposed to be locked away with your worthless human dregs." Then he paused as Xander pulled Aquila out from behind his back.  
  
"I'm the union rep and I'm here to negotiate some holidays and more toilet breaks for my members, along with the right to donuts and coffee," said Xander with a grin. "Oops, no, sorry. Wrong speech there."  
  
The guard let out a roar of anger and swept the whip back, but before he could deliver the blow Xander slashed out with Aquila, plunging the blade deep into the demon before pulling it out again and watching the body fall away.  
  
The sobbing in the cells had stopped and he could feel the eyes of a number of deeply frightened people on him. He looked down at the guard and grabbed the only key he could see.  
  
"Why do they keep keys on belts," he muttered as he looked at the cells, "Why not be original? Demons have no imagination at all."  
  
The doors of the cells were secured with a locking mechanism next to where the guard had been sitting that opened them all with a turn of the key. Xander inserted it and turned. There was a squeal and the doors opened slowly. No-one emerged and he carefully looked into the nearest one. Five terrified women and two men, all dressed in smocks and all rail-thin, were looking at him. "They'll punish you," whispered one of them.  
  
Xander waggled Aquila. "Not today. Come on, I'm getting you all out of here. Out, come on."  
  
There was an angry shout a long way away and suddenly there was the long drawn out wail of an alarm. Xander looked along the corridor. Nothing here. It had to be Buffy, doing her Slayer-style thing. These demons wouldn't know what hit them.  
  
The prisoners had shrunk back further in their cells at the sound of the alarm and Xander had to chivvy them along to get them to come into the corridor. Gentleness seemed to be the answer; it was obviously something that they hadn't known for some time. Going from cell to cell he collected everyone he could find, until he got to the last one, where a teenaged girl was huddled in one corner, looking through him with huge terrified eyes.  
  
"What's your name, honey?" Xander asked gently. She just looked at him. Conscious that valuable seconds were slipping by, he squatted down next to her. "What's your name?" he asked again.  
  
"Nothing... no-one..." she whispered, tears streaking her face. "I'm no- one."  
  
"No you're not," he said. "Don't let them break you. You have a name. Remember it? Sure you can. It's time to go, honey. The guard is dead. I'm getting you all out of here. I'm taking you all home." The eyes looked at him for the first time. "Home?" she asked, with more than a hint of hope. "Home?" "Home," he said reassuringly and held his hand out for her to grasp. Slowly she levered herself up and shuffled to the door.

As they came out Xander looked at the crowd milling in the corridor. They were all staring in abject terror at something he couldn't quite see. Leaving the girl with someone who appeared to have a faint flicker of defiance in his expression Xander hurried forward. One of the demons could be seen close to the mouth of the corridor. Fortunately he had his back to them. Instead he was grasping the railings tightly and staring out at something below him. From the yells, clashes of metal on metal, not to mention the signal from his Slayer-scope, Xander could tell that the Slayer was busy down there. He frowned. This guy was familiar. He was the one who had fallen into the portal with Buffy.

* * *

The demon who called himself Ken in LA stood staring in disbelief as the blond troublemaker who had ripped his false face off proceeded to slaughter his men beneath him. This did not happen here.  
  
"Fight back?" he spat angrily. "That's not right. That doesn't happen here." Then something very cold and sharp pressed against the back of his neck.  
  
"Guess what?" said a voice behind him. "The rules have changed."  
  
The sharp thing stopped pressing against his neck and he was about spin around to kill the insolent human when he briefly felt a very sharp pain against the side of his neck. After that he didn't feel anything at all.

* * *

Xander looked down at the headless demon and then turned back to the crowd of freed prisoners, who were looking at the body in disbelief. "Okay, folks, here's where we start the ball rolling. Up the stairs, go on, move! Up to the portal, that's the way home. Come on, I'll protect you."  
  
Slowly at first and then faster and faster the former workers started to move to the stairs and climb to safety. Xander watched them go. Feeling a demon approach he moved down the walkway, moving into a defensive stance. The demon was in a hurry to join the fight downstairs. He was certainly not expecting to see a crowd of escaping prisoners. Letting out a loud bellow he surged down the walkway, clutching what appeared to be half a sword and half a scythe. The prisoners started to run up the stairs, some screaming in fear as they saw the demon approach – and then Xander stepped up and ran the demon through. It gaped at him for a long moment and then died.  
  
Xander kicked the body off Aquila and gazed around. The prisoners were making good progress. Then he looked over the railings. Buffy was cleaving a path through the demons and was looking as if she was resolving a large number of issues at the same time. Wow, he thought. Impressive. Then he paused. A demon had emerged from a doorway hidden in the shadows to one side of where Buffy was fighting. He was clutching a crossbow, and was pulling the drawstring back.  
  
"Damn," said Xander. He doubted if Buffy would hear a shouted warning – the machinery was still rumbling and pounding all around her, and besides he didn't want to distract her from her fight.  
  
"I guess that's why the Host told me to come," he muttered. The demon had finished cocking the crossbow and was now fumbling for a bolt.  
  
Xander looked down at Aquila and smiled. The sword had served him well. But a Jedi couldn't get attached to material possessions. He lifted it up by the hilt, embraced the force and threw it at the demon.  
  
It wasn't a straight path down to the target; he had to use the force to get Aquila to dodge three beams, two chains and a revolving arm, but it plunged straight down, running to its target like a homing missile. The demon never even saw it coming before it went straight through his chest. The crossbow fell to the floor, followed by the demon.  
  
Xander nodded and then looked up. There seemed to be some confusion upstairs. The prisoners had come up against something. Cursing he turned his back on Buffy and ran up the stairs.

* * *

Buffy got one demon in the face, swept another off its feet with a lash of the foot and then stabbed another one in the gut. As it slid off the platform she heard a swish and a grunt from behind her and she turned in time to see another skanky red slave driver fall over. Then she blinked. There was a sword sticking out of its chest. She didn't remember anyone else being around. Where'd that come from? She looked around quickly and then somersaulted off the platform, landing next to the dead demon. It had been arming a crossbow. Wowzer, someone had been looking out for her. She looked up in time to see a dark form in the shadows several levels up disappear up a set of stairs. Could have been her ally. Whoever he was.  
  
She shrugged. Time to go. She reached down and effortlessly pulled the sword out of the demon. Hum, quite a nice one. Little eagley thing on the hilt as well. Cool. Why did it look faintly familiar? She swung it experimentally and then took off to find Lily and the others.

* * *

The hold-up turned out to be a portcullis that no-one could move. Xander reached out with the force and sent it soaring up back into the slot in the ceiling it had come from. There was some sort of locking mechanism there as well, and he used the force to engage it. "Go!" he shouted and the prisoners boiled through the opening towards the room with the portal, where they milled around, staring at the black water above them with trepidation.  
  
"On each other's shoulders! Help each other up!" he urged and then encouraged one woman to climb up onto his own back. She wobbled up and put a hand through the portal to where the rim would be in LA. From the way that she vanished upwards Xander was sure that Doyle had grabbed her. Heh. Would he be surprised!  
  
More footsteps pounded in the corridor and he turned to see more prisoners enter, led by a girl with long blond hair and a tattoo on one arm.  
  
"Up, let's get you out of here!" he shouted and urged them on and up. His Slayer-scope was showing a large Buffy-sized blip heading straight towards them and he relaxed a little. Time to go. Two girls were trying to get out and he recognised one of them as the teenager from the cell earlier. "Let me give you a hand," he said and used the force to lift her through the air and up into the portal, followed by the second one.  
  
"The force is with me," he muttered and then leapt into the air in a force- jump, entering the portal just as Buffy arrived through the door.  
  
The room was full of crying, shaking people, many of whom were huddled in blankets, as he rose through the black water-substance and he had to tuck himself into a tight somersault and use the force to land off to one side where he wouldn't hit anyone. Doyle watched him land and then hurried over to him.  
  
"God, where'd this lot come from? I saw you go in, then this hand appeared just after. I grabbed it and pulled and it was this girl. Then it just exploded people. I grabbed some of the blankets from the other room. They were being used as props I think. Never been used. Who are they all?"  
  
"Prisoners. They had quite the little slave industry down there in some kind of industrial plant." said Xander, looking around through the bodies at the opening. Another hand had appeared in the portal and then the blond girl pulled herself through, followed by Buffy. Then there was an odd sensation and he felt dizzy. The portal had changed, the black substance had gone and was replaced by tiles. The way was closed.  
  
Xander sighed and concentrated on Buffy. She seemed a lot better. She had recovered her mojo. He smiled at Doyle. "I think I'll slip out before she sees me. Don't want to freak her out too much, she's had a tough enough day. I've got to see Thorne and then call some people. I think the Slayer is coming home."


	13. Zombies And Dinner Don't Mix

Okay, this one was hard to write. Seriously, very hard to write, so apologies for the delay in getting it out. I've never really written much angst before and it was hard. Right, a couple of housekeeping issues... I've got a little list... all of you who have made guesses as to the identity of Xander's two Padawans have been 100% **wrong**. Go to the back of the class. I have put in two hints in past chapters as to the identity of one of them, but I fear I might have said too much already. The other one came as just as much a surprise to me as it will (I hope) be to you. Moving on, I _will_, I promise, eventually rejig Chapter One. Real life is being a bit of a bugger at the moment, but I am working on it. And finally, didn't anyone pick up the reference to a certain British comedy programme with a certain priest in it? (And I don't mean Don Camillo. Ghostrider gets a gold star and a Jedi Xander e-plushie for spotting that one.) Please enjoy and of course push that little review button!

* * *

The plants in her room had been carefully watered and had even grown, she thought guiltily. Mom had even dusted their leaves, something that she had never been too hot on. She looked around the room and then walked back to the bed, where her bag was lying. It contained just one thing. She pulled out Mr Gordo and placed him carefully back on his place of honour. Then she tweaked him slightly to the right. He looked a bit squished, but that was just from being jammed in a bag for three hours.  
  
Sitting back down on the bed she looked around. It was all a bit freaky, being home. The familiar and yet unfamiliar feel of the bed after not sleeping in it for so long. The shadows on the ceiling from the sun outside as it went down. The smell of the room itself. For one thing, it smelt a lot fresher, as it her mother had vacuumed it every day. Knowing Mom, she probably had as well.  
  
Yes, it all was a bit freaky. She had the odd feeling that nothing really fit any more, that everything was, like Mr Gordo, a little out of place. Looking over to the table next to the bed she reached out and picked up her diary. That didn't fit either. It was all cheerful and covered in doodles on the inside cover. Lots of 'B&A4EVR' along with variations on that line. Not that she's written anything in it since that day. She leafed through the pages slowly and then put it back on the table.  
  
As for Mom... she had been so happy to see Mom and Mom had been so happy to see her and yet... and yet... it was hard to be home. She had been on her own for three months, only really talking to people at work and to be back home, having real conversations and real home-inspired things to do... it was all so hard. What had happened to her? Why did she feel that way? When had Mom become hard to talk to? She sighed and stood up. She'd seen Mom and now she had people to see. Wincing she thought of Willow. And Xander. And Oz. And Giles.  
  
Oh god, Giles... The last time she'd seen her Watcher she was fighting for her life with Angelus and he was being carried off, all bleeding and groggy, by Xander. She'd tried to write a letter to him in Los Angeles, she really had, but after half an hour of staring at a blank piece of paper she'd given up. There was so much in her head and no way to put it down. She'd almost burst into tears there and then, but she'd dammed everything back in her head and had gone to work instead.  
  
What would her friends be like? Would it be as hard to get along with them as it was so far with Mom? She'd only been home a matter of hours. Would it take time? Buffy sighed again and walked out of the room. Mom had made a 'snack' that sounded more like a banquet. After that? Time to go see everyone.

* * *

Xander was staring at the opposite wall of the library when Giles came in, clutching a mound of books that needed rebinding, having been dropped, torn, shaken, thrown and, unless he was very much mistaken, trodden on. Americans, he thought bitterly, why must they do such terrible things to their books?  
  
Then he caught sight of Xander and paused. "Is everything alright, Xander?" he called, putting the abused books down and walking over to the young pseudo-Jedi, whose eyes were unfocussed.  
  
He looked around back and Giles and then grimaced. "Yes and no, Giles, yes and no. I'm getting some weird readings on my Slayer-scope. I don't think that we have a very happy little Slayer here."  
  
Giles pulled a face. The moment that Xander had told him that Buffy was returning to Sunnydale he had had to resist the urge to rush straight to her home and hug her. That would have brought up a number of awkward little problems however, like explaining how he had known that she was back, which could be a bit... tricky.  
  
"Why do I feel like we're treading on eggshells at the moment, Giles?" said Xander wearily.  
  
"That's, that's quite a good analogy. God only knows what she's been through since she deactivated Acathla by using Angel's blood. I strongly suspect that she is still coming to terms with the entire thing. I do wish she hadn't run away, although I do understand how easy it is to give in to that impulse."  
  
Xander looked at him sharply. Now it was the turn of the Watcher to have unfocussed eyes and a troubled expression, and Xander was obviously wondering, not for the first time, what demons of his own the Watcher had, hidden in his past.  
  
Shaking his head slightly Giles came out of his brown study and looked back at Xander apologetically. "Yes, well. We must be careful. Getting to talk about her recent experiences might be a way forwards. And," off came the glasses again for another polish, "Your abilities when it comes to sensing Buffy might prove invaluable. Which brings me to my next point. I don't think that we should tell Buffy about your... abilities just yet. Once I have a better understanding of the way that she's adjusting to being home, we'll tell her then."  
  
Seeing the face that Xander was pulling, Giles replaced his glasses. "Xander, I know that as a friend you don't like keeping things from Buffy. Lord knows that, as her Watcher, I don't like keeping things from her as well. But with what you've been up to – and I highly commend your actions in that hell dimension – and the fact that Willow has been looking into the world of magic, means that the Sunnydale she has come back to is not the one that she left. We need to proceed with, with great caution."  
  
"Okay," sighed Xander, "A big check on the whole caution thingy. I'll accidentally, on-purpose, 'run into' Buffy. Do you want me to bring her here?"  
  
"No," replied Giles with controlled anger in his voice. "She is banned from school property thanks to that odious little homunculus, Snyder. That's something else we need to work on. I'm going to have a word with Joyce Summers about getting Buffy back into school. I don't know what it is that he has against her, but his actions speak of a deep vindictiveness, covered by petty malice."  
  
"Whoa, Giles, enough with the Ripper vibes!" exclaimed Xander. "By the way, I need to take a look in the cupboard of demony destruction for a new weapon some time soon. I miss old Aquila and I'm sorry that your cousin's sword is now in that hell dimension."  
  
The Watcher smiled. "I'm sure that he would have been very proud of the use to which you put it. He created it to fight evil and your actions over the past few months have justified my giving it to you. Now you'd better go and find Buffy."

* * *

Mr Pointy could be hidden up a sleeve, perfect for some surprise slayage. Birdy, the name she'd thought up for the sword she'd found in the hell dimension because of the little eagley thing on the hilt, was a little more obvious, thought Buffy as she hovered over the two. Well, for her first night back, and possible Bronze action ahead of her, surprise was good. Mr Pointy went up her sleeve and Birdy went under the bed. She liked the sword; it had excellent balance and was wicked sharp. She just couldn't shake the feeling that she had seen it before. Something to do with the library... or was it the factory? Shrugging she walked out of her room and into her mothers' bedroom.  
  
Mom was about to hammer a nail into a wall and jumped rather sharply at Buffy's "Hey." The hammer came down on the wall, not on the nail, and left a nasty hole in the plaster.  
  
"Buffy, you startled me," she said, and then went back to knocking the nail into the wall.  
  
"I thought I'd slip out and say hi to Willow," she said and then frowned at the mask that Mom was hanging on the nail.  
  
"It's a piece of tribal art – a mask from Nigeria. Isn't it amazing? There's no space at the gallery just yet for it, so I'm hanging it here for a little while."  
  
"It looks... very masky. Kinda fangy too. I won't be too long, I have to find Willow first."  
  
"Do you need some food? I mean, will you be slaying?"  
  
Slightly freaked out by the question, Buffy smiled. "I haven't recovered yet from the four-course snack you fed me earlier, Mom, and the slaying depends on the local's being uppity. I'll be okay."  
  
Okay... she wasn't so sure as she left the house. The fact that Mom would be asking her slayer-related questions was a bit freaky. Being asked if she wanted sandwiches to munch between dusting vampires was also a little odd.  
  
She wandered down the street and looked at the horizon. The sun was setting. Almost time for the locals to start getting frisky. Speaking of which, was someone under that tree ahead of her?  
  
Then the figure moved out from the shadow. "Hey Buffster," said Xander, his face quirking into that familiar smile. "Long time no speak."  
  
"Xander!" she exclaimed and the next thing she knew she was being hugged by him. Xander seemed to have done a lot of working out over the summer – he had muscles in places where before he'd had not a lot of anything. Something else seemed to have happened to him, as he then stepped back and looked at her very seriously. "How are you?" he asked, and she had the oddest feeling that he was very worried about her.  
  
"Hey, you know me," she joked. Why had Xander been standing there? It was as if he had known that she would coming... nah. Xander was Xander. She paused. There was a silver crucifix on a chain around his neck. Okay, that was new.  
  
"I caught sight of you a little while ago," he said, "But I thought that you'd want a little personal time with your mom. Willow and Oz are at the Bronze, we can pop in and say hi before you see Giles. So, where'd ya go over the summer? Giles must have bankrupted the Watcher's Council with trips and phone calls to find you. But, you're back now, right?" He seemed... odd. Very calm, as they walked down the road.  
  
"We worked out what had happened. I mean about Angel and Acathla. I never had the chance to tell you that Willow was working on the spell to restore his soul. She thought that it worked and then after that... well, we found the blood on the floor in front of Acathla and it didn't take Sherlock Holmes to put two and two together. I'm sorry Buffy. Really, I am. It must have been very hard."  
  
She smiled a very small smile. Tears were very close now, she was having trouble keeping her composure. The memories of that day never really faded, they were always there, pulsing in the back of her head. The day she'd sent Angel to hell.  
  
"It... just happened," she said eventually, after they had been walking in silence. "Save the world. Part of the Slayer's mission, 'kay? But yes... it was hard."

* * *

Finding Willow and Oz at the Bronze was easy. Keeping the conversation going after that was not. Xander had had to draw on all his skills for useless chatter in an effort to fill in the silences that kept appearing and sucking all the life out of the atmosphere. The fact was that everyone was feeling awkward around Buffy. This was understandable but also extremely worrying. The sense of... oddness, of unfamiliarity, that Buffy was projecting in the force was starting to concern him. It was just the fact that she felt awkward herself. Willow was also not herself – he kept picking up flashes of anger at something that he didn't understand. And Oz, well, he had never been Mr Talkative. Mr Monosyllabic would be a better description.  
  
And so, as they progressed towards Giles's apartment, he had taken it on himself to blather. Not inane blather, but little things to try and make people talk more. The weather (God, was he turning into Giles?), the fact that Sunnydale's baseball team had actually won a game, where Oz and the Dingoes would be playing next ("Oh, around," had been Oz's less than helpful comment) and the fact that Willow's mom had seen President Clinton when she had flown to San Francisco on a business trip.  
  
By the time that they reached Giles's place Xander felt like that guy from the old Greek legend who was doomed to roll a boulder up a hill for all eternity. Fortunately Giles had more than made up for this. Having administered his own hug on the Slayer, he had then bustled around arranging tea, biscuits and unless Xander had misheard him, something called crumpets. When he left to enter the kitchen, still calling out comments and having sparked off something of a conversation between the others, Xander followed him. He found the Watcher leaning against an overhead cupboard, his glasses in his hand and a look of deep relief on his face. In fact, he looked the closest he'd ever been to tears.  
  
"Are you okay, Giles?" he asked. Giles started slightly and replaced his spectacles.  
  
"Xander. Ah... yes. It's just... well, the reality of seeing her again caught me somewhat unawares. I know that you said that she was home, but seeing her in the flesh as it were was... a little more emotional than I thought. How, how is she?" he asked, pulling out a tray and then filling the kettle.  
  
"Not good. I think she hasn't worked things through just yet. It might be the old 'lets repress the bad memories' tendency kicking in."  
  
"Where are those bloody crumpets again? Oh. Yes... has, has she discussed the events of that night?"  
  
"Not in any great detail. She only arrived today though."  
  
"Right. That's unfortunate. China or Darjeeling? Oh who cares, you Yanks poured the good stuff into Boston Harbour. I think that we need to get her to open up a little. Talk about what happened. I never liked that variety of tea, can you throw it in the bin? Thank you. The more she talks about what happened, the more she might be able to take the edge off the pain of loss. Ah, the kettle's boiled. Can you pass the teapot? Yes, that one. Thank you. I'm a Watcher though, not a psychiatrist, so we need to be careful about this. Good god, I thought I'd lost those sugar tongs." The Watcher turned around, holding a tray full of tea, the mysterious crumpets and other stuff. "Right, tea's up."

* * *

Buffy had mixed feelings by the time she got home. To her unsurprise Mom was still up. Giles and Xander had done their best to make her feel at home, and to make her smile come to that. Something had been odd about Xander though, she just couldn't put her finger on it. Oz had been Oz and Willow... there had been a wiggy feeling of distance between them. Oh, she'd been fine but... there had been something there, the sense of words left unsaid. But she felt a bit better about being home. And she and Wills had agreed to meet for a talk and maybe some shopping in town the next day.  
  
Getting ready for bed, knowing with guilty pleasure that while the others would have school the next day, she would not, she paused and looked at her reflection in the mirror. It had been a weird few days. Shrugging, she went to bed.  
  
She never could tell when the dreams became the Slayer dreams. Her first dream was something about a yellow sweater and a talking bear, but that was just her subconscious wigging her out. No, the moment that she found herself walking through the corridors of the High School with all the clarity and self-awareness that characterised a Slayer dream, she knew that this one would probably be all full of portents. Lucky her.  
  
She was also unsurprised when Angel walked into view. He had been in her dreams for months now. Guilt, she supposed.  
  
"You've come a long way," he said, placing the tips of his fingers together.  
  
"I didn't have any choice," she replied. They were walking along the corridors leading to the open square in the middle of the school, the sunlight very bright in front of them. Angel stepped into the light and looked at her. "The world needs its heroes. Balance is everything though. And the other side tends to cheat. You know that."  
  
She looked at him. This was a little clearer than some of her other Slayer dreams. Still odd though. "Evil does cheat a lot," she agreed. "Not the most original point."  
  
Angel smiled. "You have help." He nodded to the fountain. Turning to follow his gaze Buffy saw a figure standing next to the fountain. It was cloaked and cowled. It was also totally unmoving.  
  
"He is there to help. And fight. Some battles, you'll need him. Others, he'll fight without you knowing. But it's all part of the war."  
  
"Who is he?" asked Buffy curiously as they walked up to the figure. As she approached she realised that the cloak and cowl was in fact a brown robe with a hood that left the figure's face deep in shadow. Its arms were folded, with its hands tucked up its sleeves. There was something terribly familiar about it.  
  
"Who is he?" she repeated.  
  
Angel smiled again. "Someone new and old at the same time. Someone who has changed the board already. Someone who has fought beside you. And will fight with you again."  
  
She turned back to the figure and tried a second time to peer into the shadows under the hood but she couldn't make out any details of the figure's face. Whoever it was, he, she or it was taller than she was, which came as no surprise. When she turned back to Angel he had vanished. At which point she had woken up. Naturally.  
  
She stared at the ceiling. "Okay, that was wiggy," she muttered. A mysterious cowled figure. Like those weren't a dime a dozen on the Hellmouth. She pondered it a bit more and then turned over to get back to sleep again. Sleep was one way to get through the time. And dreaming about Angel once meant that the rest of her dreams might be less painful. Whatever.

* * *

Xander soldered a small connection more firmly to the backup relay and stepped back to admire his handiwork. It was coming together, it really was. Slowly but surely he was assembling the parts for the power cell he needed. Part two of his _insanely_ ambitious plan to build his own lightsabre.  
  
After his little foray into the hell dimension to help Buffy, he had picked up the facetted sapphire from Thorne, who had muttered that it had been a challenging assignment. It was perfect, the gem had all the correct angles for use in a lightsabre and it was now carefully wrapped in tissue paper and hidden in his room.  
  
Building a power cell was the next part and he had made a start on that in the desert. However Uncle Will's place had lacked a large chunk of the things he needed to complete it. Hell, the high school lacked most of the parts, but he had been able to improvise here and there. It was about half done. He was following the plan in the book carefully, one step at a time. He didn't want to make a mistake and, oh, say, turn the room into a smoking crater the first time it was powered up. That was another issue; this thing would take a lot of power to charge up for the first time. After that it would recharge itself using a feedback loop, but the initial charge-up would take time. If he ever finished it.  
  
Sensing Mr Oblonski approaching with the force, Xander pulled out the circuit board he was supposed to be working on and slipped the evolving power cell to one side and into a handy box. The circuit board was almost completed. It had been assembled in record time with the help of the force earlier on at the start of the lesson and only needed a few tweaks.  
  
"Good, Xander, very good. You're ahead of the others," approved Mr Oblonski, and then passed on to the next desk, where Jonathan Levinson was making a complete hash of his board. If it was ever turned on, thought Xander, it would either melt, spontaneously combust or pick up Radio Moscow.  
  
He turned back to his own board, completed soldering the connections and then looked up as the bell rang for the end of class. Cool. Break ahead, along with a trip to the library to see Giles. He had picked up a strange vibe that morning with the force and he wanted to check it out. It seemed to be coming from the general direction of the Slayer, and that was worrying. Putting everything away, submitting his completed circuit board to Mr Oblonski and palming his power cell, Xander ambled down the hallway. He would have preferred to stride, but he had to continue to project his essential Xander-ness, as opposed to his new Jedi-ness.  
  
He was also a bit worried about Willow. Earlier that day they had met in the library where Giles had told them that Joyce Summers wanted to have a dinner party for Buffy that night. It sounded like a good idea to Xander, the chance to do a little Slayer-inspired bonding. Willow had wanted to expand it a little, by inviting more people and getting the Dingoes to play.  
  
He had shot the plan for the expanded party down at once. "Willow, Buffy was in a hell dimension two days ago," he had pointed out. "She's having her own trouble adjusting to the fact that she's back and the last thing she needs is to have a shindig thrown for her when all she wants is to reconnect with the world."  
  
Willow's response had been that maybe the Slayer needed a party, maybe it would help her a little, to which Xander had responded by saying that no, this was a very bad idea. Giles had backed him up and the original plan of a small dinner was back on. Willow had sulked a little. She was emitting odd vibes when it came to Buffy.  
  
Speaking of Willow, he could see her up ahead, in front of her locker. This was bad. Wasn't she supposed to be meeting Buffy around now? Walking up to her he tapped her on the shoulder and she span around.  
  
"Wills, aren't you supposed to be in the horror of full shop-mode with Buffy at the moment?" he asked. To his surprise Willow actually blushed.  
  
"I... I kinda got sidetracked doing some work, and then I had to see Giles, and then Oz and I made arrangements for some extra-curricular smoochies and... I kinda lost track of time. She'll understand."  
  
"I'm sure she would if these were normal times, Wills, but they ain't. It's not like you to pass up a chance to get into shopping. What gives? And did you get word to Buffy?"  
  
The deepening blush told him the answer to the last part. And her muttered reply that it was awkward to be around Buffy a little right now caused him to frown. Looking around he dragged her into an empty classroom, where he closed the door, folded his arms and stared at her.  
  
"Xander, you're not going to do the Jedi mind trick on me, are you?" she asked in a very small voice.  
  
"No, Willow, I am not. It's only to be used in emergencies and preferably on someone evil. And you are not evil but this is an emergency of its own kind. What's up with you and Buffy?"  
  
Willow pouted slightly. "She left us, Xander. It was a hard summer. She left us and we had to deal with everything, like cleaning up in the factory, and boarding Acathla up and Giles dumping him off the coast in that lead box, and then there's that whole mini-demon colony in the basement of Mrs Anders thing, which we had to deal with, and you were off in the desert dealing with your own things and... she left us. I was her best friend and I have stuff going on now that I can only tell her and... she wasn't here. I sound really pathetic, don't I?" she concluded in a miniscule voice and inspecting her shoes with great attention to detail.  
  
"No," sighed Xander. "Just very human. Willow, she left because she was running away from what had happened, and I suspect that she wasn't even able to do that very well. She stabbed the re-souled love of her life through the chest to save the world. Naturally that would hurt a little. She needs time. And I suspect shoes. So, off you go. Go talk to her, Willow. Get your best friend back."  
  
Giving him a rather teary smile Willow departed. Shaking his head Xander walked off to the library. There he discovered Oz and Giles bending over a cage in which a very smelly and unkempt cat was prowling restlessly. The moment Xander laid eyes on it he stopped dead. He felt no life from it. It was a hole in the force, like a vampire, but one with an odd vibe to it – like the one he'd picked up earlier that day. He paced over to it.  
  
"That thing is dead," he said softly, squatting down to look closely at it. It smelt truly terrible. "It doesn't exist in the force, but there's something there."  
  
Giles looked up in some surprise. "Can you feel something from it Xander?"  
  
"Yes. Odd vibe. Same vibe as I've been picking up coming from Buffy's general direction." He paused and reorientated himself. Hang on, Buffy was shopping and she was over there in the force, to the west. The odd vibe was stationary to the north. Hum. It was coming from the general direction of the Summers house. "Where did this come from?"  
  
Giles leant back from the cage in more than a little relief and started to clean his glasses yet again. "I had a phone call from Buffy this morning. She found a dead cat in the basement last night. She and Joyce buried it but this morning this thing had exhumed itself and was scratching on their back door. I picked it up earlier on."  
  
"Giles, the weird vibe I'm getting off zombie cat here is the same one I'm picking up coming from the general direction of casa Slayer, as opposed to Buffy. Have they done anything Hellmouthy recently?"  
  
"I don't believe so," said the Watcher with a shrug.  
  
"Anything new?" asked Oz, watching the cat with a great deal of puzzlement.  
  
"Not that I'm aware of," replied Giles replacing his glasses. "Although... Joyce does have a new decoration in the house. A mask, from Nigeria I believe. I was going to look it up later, but now I think we should do some research with a little more urgency."  
  
Xander nodded. Research. Big surprise. But he felt less tired about that then he thought. Probably the Jedi thing kicking in he pondered as Giles reappeared from the stacks with a large pile of books.

* * *

Shoes had been looked at. Shoes had been debated. Shoes had been rigorously inspected. Some shoes had even been bought. And now Willow and Buffy were drinking coffee in a small cafe and a slightly less strained conversation had started.  
  
"So there I was, standing in this room, with all these people shaking around me. Which was kind of freaky, because there were more than I rescued with my bunch of prisoners. They said that this mysterious dark-haired guy with all kinds of cool moves and a sword took down a whole bunch of demons and freed them. And there was another guy waiting next to the portal to help out. They said that they both left right after I arrived back in this world, but it was kinda odd," finished Buffy.  
  
"Wow, that must have been all scary in another dimension," said Willow, her eyes very wide. She paused. "I'm glad you're home, Buffy. It was a bad summer without you. I had all this stuff going on, serious stuff, I mean serious dating stuff. And I had no-one to talk to."  
  
Buffy looked at her friend sadly. "I know, Will. I'm so sorry. But it was all..." she struggled for words. "So... so hard. Too much to think about. I just wanted to run away and hide. That reminds me..." she delved into her handbag and pulled out a crumpled letter. "I wrote this to you. About as month ago. I just couldn't post it. I wish I had but..." she looked crumpled herself. "It was all too much," she finished weakly.  
  
Looking down at the letter, Willow smiled. "Thanks. At least I had Giles to talk to. And Oz, obviously. And even your mom. I think she went to a book club or something to take her mind off you. I know that Giles said she was frantic with worry."  
  
"Yeah," admitted Buffy. "I'm going to be big with the presents on her birthday, and next Mother's Day, and Christmas, and, well, pretty much the attentive daughter. When I'm not slaying that is. What did Xander do for the holiday?"  
  
From the way that Willow's eyes froze, this was an uncertain subject. "Ah. Xander. Um, have you had a chance to talk to him yet?"  
  
"Not apart from last night. Why?"  
  
"Um. Xander went away. For the summer I mean. He came back the day before school started. He was taking care of his Uncle's place in the desert. Much desert-ness with Xander. Um."  
  
Buffy looked at her friend. She was acting in a highly wiggy way. "Willow are you okay? It doesn't sound like Xander, spending a summer away from here."  
  
"He had to go away. To train I mean. You need to talk to Xander." And then Willow had started on a rambling and not too coherent story about Oz and how he had almost fried the sound system on the Dingoes' first gig that summer due to wonky wiring.

* * *

The book slammed back onto the desk as Giles stood up and paced about the library, swearing in Latin, Sumerian, Akkadian and, unless Xander was very much mistaken, Welsh. He exchanged a knowing glance with Oz, who was closing the books in front of him.  
  
Finally, when Giles had presumably exhausted his supply of curses, the Watcher slumped back into his chair. "Do you like my mask?" he said with savage sarcasm. "Isn't it pretty? It raises the dead, you know! Americans!"  
  
"Hey Giles, enough with the colonial superiority riff," said Xander. "Although in this case I think you might be right. How the hell did this thing come to be in a consignment of goods for the gallery?"  
  
"Heaven knows," said Giles glaring at the ceiling. "The Mask of Ovu Moboni is supposed to be guarded by a shaman near Lagos. I don't know how it came to be sold, but you can be _bloody_ sure that I will make certain that Room 42 at the British Museum comes to hear of this. They'll put the biggest bloody rocket under the Nigerian department that you've ever seen in your life. And, given that this thing came via the museum at San Francisco, they'll also shake things up there. Well then," he said, sitting up and looking at the others. "Let's get going. It's almost 6pm now. As the first thing that the mask rejuvenated was the cat, that means that it hasn't reached its full power yet."  
  
"How can you tell?" asked Oz, one eyebrow raised.  
  
"Because it was at full power, the dead, I mean the human dead, would be converging on Buffy's house and even the police would be noticing if the morgues were emptying. We need to get there and, as we're lacking a Nigerian shaman who can suppress it, destroy the mask."

* * *

Xander swallowed as they drove through the streets of Sunnydale. If anyone saw him in this car, his street cred, such as it was, would descend though the floorboards. The Watcher drove... an antique. A slow antique.  
  
He looked out of the window and forgot his petty worry about being seen. The closer they got to the mask, the more it resonated in his head. It stank of the dark side. More accurately it stank of death. Undeath too, the sort of mobile life without the breathing part. Yuck. He wondered why he hadn't picked up on it when he had been close to Buffy's house the previous night, but then he remembered Giles and his comment about the mask not being at full power. Yeuch.  
  
Then he paused and stared out of the window. They were passing a cemetery and something was wobbling next to a gravestone. As they passed he saw a green hand push out of the earth, clutch wildly at the air and then fall down to move more earth away from the grave. "Giles, I think we need a little more speed from this thing."

* * *

The placemats were in position, the cutlery had been polished and the ravioli was bubbling nicely in the pot. Joyce Summers could also hear the sound of laughter and animated conversation from Buffy's room, where she and Willow were unpacking their things. For the first time in months it felt as if things were normal again. Joyce smiled and scrubbed away a tear. She hadn't even been able to dream that things would be like this again. Her daughter was home. Then she paused. Was that a car outside?

* * *

Giles pulled up and the three men piled outside. Twilight was gathering and already Xander could see at least one lurching figure on the horizon. People were bound to notice that. It was green for a start.  
  
Turning away he joined Giles and Oz as they hurried up to the door and knocked sharply on it. It was opened by Joyce Summers, complete with an apron and a spoon in one hand.  
  
"Mr Giles!" she exclaimed. "Hello Xander, Oz. You're early, I thought that we said 8 o'clock for dinner?"  
  
"Joyce. Sorry. We need to see that mask you have. We think it's related to your reanimated cat," said Giles.  
  
"Um, Giles?" said Xander, looking down the road. "We have company. Of the undead, green, walking variety."  
  
"What?" said Joyce, and then squeaked as Giles picked her up and put her down in the hallway while Oz and Xander darted in and closed the door.  
  
"Buffy!" Xander shouted. There was a confused noise upstairs and Buffy and Willow appeared on the stairs.  
  
"What are you guys doing here so early?" asked the Slayer.  
  
"Ah, Buffy, slight crisis. Your mother's new Nigerian mask is raising the dead, so we need to stop it," said Giles, looking around wildly. "Where is it?"  
  
"And do you have any weapons?" added Xander.  
  
Buffy didn't hesitate. Vanishing into her room she reappeared clutching a battleaxe and a sword, which, running down the stairs, she held out. "Here, take Edge and Birdy."  
  
Xander reached out for the sword and then did a double take. Aquila! The sword was Aquila! Grinning, he let it swish through the air in a double loop and then came to the third offensive position. Cool. He looked up to see Buffy staring at him again.  
  
"We _so_ need to have that conversation about how you got to learn how to use the sword so well," she said in a bemused voice. Then she looked at Giles. "The mask's upstairs, Giles. I didn't bring it down because its eyes have gone all glowy and I thought that I'd consult first and hit it second."  
  
"Yes, well, thank you Buffy," said her Watcher as he looked around at the window, "But I think that for once the correct course of action would have been in reverse order."  
  
"Sorry?"  
  
"Take the axe and hit it... wait a moment..." Giles was looking out of the window. A number of forms were gathering now in the gathering darkness, but there was something else out there. A car had stopped outside the house and a figure was getting out. "Damn, who's that?"  
  
Joyce was also staring now. "Oh my. It's Pat, from the book club. She said that she might pop in and drop off a book I leant her."  
  
Giles snorted. "Her timing is abysmal. And we should warn her."  
  
"I'll go," said Xander. "Buffy, smash that mask as quickly as possible. Oz, Willow, Giles, you protect the house. Mrs Summers, please take cover." Summoning the force he opened the door and burst out. Behind him he heard a puzzled Buffy say: "Whoa, what happened to Xander?"  
  
There were five zombies on the lawn. All looked like extras from a bad horror film, all pale and green skin, bloodstains and much lurchiness. They also all looked very bad tempered. There was also Pat. She was blond, middle-aged and rather puzzled, staring around at the zombies, which were doing the undead version of realising that a victim had come their way and were now making "uuuhhh" noises. For Xander it was like stepping into a cemetery in the force, all dead zones and yuckiness.  
  
"Is this some kind of rehearsal for Halloween?" Pat said and then let out a startled screech when she saw the man holding a sword in front of her.  
  
"Pat, get inside the house now," said Xander, looking at the zombies, who were eying him puzzledly and making louder "uuuhhh" noises. Then, moving as one, they all looked up at the house. Xander would have laid good odds that Buffy was approaching the mask. Then the zombies uttered a collective howl and charged.  
  
"Pat, get inside the house!" shouted Xander, and gave the woman a shove from behind with the force. She screamed and hurtled past him, passing a zombie who stuck out one mottled hand and tried to grab her. Aquila flashed once and the zombie was left staring at a stump of a wrist. Then it stared at Xander again and made a moaning sound before it came at him. Another flash of the sword and its head was on the ground while its torso wandered blindly around the lawn and finally fell over a rose bush.  
  
Another zombie came at Xander and he hacked its arm off before pinning in place with the force and catching yet another of the walking dead on it's hip. It must have been in the ground for a while, because it gave a little wail and fell over, reduced to one leg.  
  
Xander was totally immersed in the force now, acting on a split second basis, identifying what was a threat to the house and what was not, leaping with the force to head off those zombies that were close to the house and then dealing with them. This was the essence of being a Jedi – the protection of the innocent – and he moved with the flow of the action. Two more zombies lost their heads and he cleaved another one in half. Pat had reached the house by now and had obviously been let in.  
  
But more of the undead were arriving as he fought and as he looked up from the follow-up from one stroke the largest zombie he had seen so far lurched into view.  
  
"Okay, big boy, let's dance," he breathed and threw himself at the zombie – which suddenly flashed and vanished, leading him to pull himself up with a jerk. The horrible feeling that had been coming from the mask had flashed in his head and gone. Buffy had smashed it with Edge. What a weird name for an axe. He looked around. The lawn and the path to the front door were mercifully free of severed body parts.  
  
"Well, that was kinda anticlimactic," he said and thrust Aquila into the loop in his belt. How they were going to explain this away to Pat was going to be interesting. He might have to use the Jedi mind trick. Oh and then there was dinner. Yum. He wasn't that hungry after fighting those zombies, actually...

* * *

Learning not to fidget at a meeting was a gift that Lilah Morgan had picked up years before. Her job more than just required it, it was a vital tactic in the battle to stay ahead of the competition. Sarah Oropo – now she was a twitcher. Never quite still in her chair, the pen in her hand dipping every now and then. Nerves, poor dear. She wouldn't last. Same for William Kennedy. She could see the faintest hint of a muscle flutter in the corner of his eye. There it went again. Oh dear. Strong nerves were important. Hers for a start.  
  
True, there were others who were potential threats. Lee Mercer for one. He looked like a stick insect, but he sat still in his chair, taking notes quietly. Never blinked much, which tended to put people off when he was talking.  
  
A pen skittered across some paper and she looked over at the man opposite. Lindsey McDonald. Holland Manners' blue-eyed boy. Young, clever and possibly as ambitious as she was. He was half-reclined in his seat, his eyes on Harry Wolfit as the old fool whittered on about the negotiations for the Farmdale Case.  
  
"-following which the other side caved and gave us a full settlement, plus another 20% for general costs. They've since bailed on the legal industry, but we still have the negatives. Total for the firm: $750,000," said Wolfit, concluding his briefing. Lilah blinked. He looked like an old fool, but the man was hard. Rumour had it that he come on in leaps and bounds after his family had been killed in that little 'accident'.  
  
Manners nodded. "Good result, Harry, the Senior Partners have been informed. Well done." Wolfit nodded his head and sat back, his eyes hard but pleased.  
  
"Moving on," said Manners, looking at the agenda, "We have some developments here in LA. Lindsey, what's the latest on the Shelter case?"  
  
Swiveling in his seat Lindsey looked at Manners and put his pen down. He didn't even glance at his notes as he said: "According to our initial investigation all contact with their people has been shut off following the incident at the Shelter itself. The portal is sealed and nothing is getting in or out of it. We have therefore concentrated on the remaining witnesses on the scene and the security camera footage.  
  
"We couldn't get much out of the men who were there – it seems that they had some sort of arrangement with our clients that involved magic. Once the portal was sealed the magic was cut off and they died of old age inside a day. However, the security camera was working and we managed to get this shot of the first... hostile person through the door, before it was damaged from having someone thrown against it. There were another two people, both male, Caucasian, but no idea as to their identities. However, as for the girl," Lindsey opened a folder and slid a picture of a short blonde girl towards Holland, who picked it up with a frown.  
  
"We've been able to identify her as one Buffy Anne Summers, resident of Sunnydale. The current Slayer."  
  
Holland leant back in his chair and smiled at the others. It was a smile that lifted the corners of his mouth. It was not one that reached his eyes. "Does anyone want to tell me," he said affably, "How the Slayer was in this city and we received no warning about her?" His gaze swept around the table. There was much studying of folders, but Lilah, Lindsey, Wolfit and Lee all met his gaze.  
  
Quirking his mouth, Lindsey leant forwards. "I did some checking. Summers was a waitress in a small diner for some two months. Normally when a Slayer settles in a city there is a significant and rapid impact on the vampire population. Not so in this case. She seems to have blended into the woodwork, done nothing, killed nothing. Until the night of the incident. We didn't know she was here because she did not act like a Slayer. Apparently she arrived in the city shortly after the incident with the demon Acathla. It's possible that she might have been hurt in the process. She arrived back in Sunnydale yesterday.  
  
"Our... arrangement with Mayor Wilkins means that we aren't really up to date with happens on the Hellmouth. I contacted him myself to request information about the Slayer. He said that he had passed on said information as per the arrangement. When I said that was the first that we had heard about it, he mentioned that he had phoned us on the day that she left Sunnydale and his jurisdiction. He said that he called Arnsdorf in communications. On the day that he... had his contract terminated."  
  
There was a frigid silence. Lilah remembered the day that Arnsdorf had been sitting at that very desk. It had taken two days to get all the blood out of the carpet following his rather messy death for over-ambition.  
  
"Ah," said Holland. "I guess that I should have waited for him to give his report after all. What a shame. What next?"  
  
"We now own the lease on the building, as stipulated in clause 56, sub- paragraph 19, in the standard contract we had with them, all contact having been lost between their dimension and ours. It's in a bad area of the city, little commercial potential, maximum value being about $100,000. I thought that it might make sense to put it up to tender, maybe for the Tarkin contract, as I heard that they're looking for a new base of operations?" said Lindsey, looking up at Lee, who nodded.  
  
"Sounds good, just what they're looking for," said the thin man.  
  
Holland stared around the room and then nodded sharply. "Good. Do it." He shuffled his papers together and then made 'wait a second' motion with his hand. Lilah tensed, but did her best to show it. Here it came.  
  
"Ah yes, one last thing. A contact of ours in the Vatican said that the Pope said Mass this morning. No surprise there. But with the Cross of the Trinity on the altar. Lilah. Care to explain this?"  
  
Leaning forwards, Lilah started to talk for her life. 


	14. Faith And Hope

* * *

Okay, well I'd like to start by thanking everyone for their reviews and then saying wow to whoever nominated me for the Crossover Awards, where Jedi Harris has been nominated for the Buffy the Vampire Slayer Fiction Crossover, Best Unfinished Story and Star Wars Fiction Crossover, Best Unfinished Story categories. Completely gobsmacked here, thank you very much. This story has come a long way. More good guesses about Xander's Padawans, but you'll have to wait until the next chapter to see who number one is. And finally, I'd like to dedicate, belatedly, this story to my Grandmother, Olwen Richards, who died a year ago last week at the age of 95. She read Winnie the Pooh and A.A. Milne to me when I was small and burbling and I owe a lot to her. Gran-ma, thank you. I miss you very much.

* * *

Lindsey was on the phone when he saw her walking up ahead. Smirking, he snapped off a comment about doing lunch, slipped the phone into pocket of his jacket and sidled up to her. Lilah Morgan was engrossed in the contents of a folder and was giving the Gaze of Death to anyone who got in her way. Then she noticed him and snapped the folder shut. "Lindsey," she said in a false-polite way. "How can I help you?"  
  
"Just wanted to say that I have to admire the way you got out of that hole you were in last week," smiled the lawyer. "Nice use of language. Nice unloading of all blame onto incompetent subordinates. Even if, I am reliably informed, you hadn't seen them for four days."  
  
Lilah looked at him through narrowed eyes, obviously wondering how he had known that. "They'd been perfectly competent before," she said reluctantly. "It just looks as if they were unable to handle a relatively simple job this time."  
  
"I heard they came back to LA and kidnapped someone," he shot back, "A part Brachen demon." The glare she shot at him almost sizzled the air molecules around him, it was so intense. "If he ever finds out that we employed them..."  
  
"He'd end up bought off or dead inside the hour," she grated. "Is there some other reason you're still here? I have a meeting with Karvor's pouch- mate in half an hour and I need to warn the kitchens to have a fresh bull's heart served up for the Rite of Mourning. There are so few of them left that the funeral is going to be a major event."  
  
"Hey, I just thought I'd pass on my compliments," he said, raising his hands. "And tell you that I had a call from forensics. Seems that it wasn't a ghost after all in that cave, like you thought. It was a wraith. Very nasty. Something actually killed your boys, destroyed the wraith and took the Cross. Kinda makes you curious, doesn't it? I'll see you around." Lindsey adjusted his jacket slightly and walked off. As he turned the corner he snuck a glimpse out of the corner of his eye. Yes, she was still glaring after him. Good. Let her sweat a bit.  
  
Passing down the corridor he paused to let a fellow lawyer pass, along with a large spiny demon who was talking loudly in what appeared to be French, before approaching the lifts. Pressing the up button he then turned when the lift to the right dinged softly and he walked up to it. The doors opened to reveal Holland Manners.  
  
"Ah, Lindsey, there you are!" Lindsey suppressed a shiver. How had Holland known that he would be there?  
  
"Come up with me to my office," said the older man. Waiting until Lindsey was in the lift he pressed the button for his floor. "Nice work on the Laughton case," he commended, "Very smooth speech. Bright and menacing. Ah. After you."  
  
The doors swept open and the two walked down a corridor. "I have a little job for you, Lindsey. I was going to give it to Lilah but, well, she's a little busy at the moment. A client of the firms – a very old client – is passing through Los Angeles this weekend. I want you to meet up with him and his aide and offer them both every comfort and courtesy. The usual hospitality. He has a major account with us and... well, let's just say that we don't want him to be disappointed. He might have some... interesting tastes, so I thought I'd better have a chat with you first."  
  
"Of course, Holland," murmured Lindsey, "I'll extend all the hospitality I can."  
  
"Good, good, I know that you won't let me down." Holland opened the door to his office and ushered Lindsey in.  
  
"His name is Kakistos."

* * *

It was a perfectly okay sword. Sharp, reasonable balance, good for the dusting of the vampires. He twirled it around into the third offensive position and then sighed. But it wasn't Aquila, or Birdy as Buffy called it, which was still under her bed. Xander frowned. This was shaping up to be a major potential problem, he thought as he looked around the darkened park.  
  
The Slayer was back in town but she still didn't know about his abilities. On the night of the zombies he'd been able to shake off the initial questions, after Giles had told Buffy that he had been training with him. Fortunately she hadn't seen him fight the undead visitors, or she would have smelt a rat. Pat whatshername had somehow been able to rationalise what she'd seen as being something to do with a Halloween rehearsal. It was amazing how people could somehow turn their heads away from the truth of living on a Hellmouth.  
  
No, he was more worried about the situation with Buffy. Giles was right in that she was still coming to terms with being back home, but Xander hated the fact that they were keeping such a big secret from her. It felt, well, just wrong. Jedi-wrong, on a scale of much Jedi-ness. Giles had told him that they would tell her when the time was right. The problem with that line of reasoning was that on the Hellmouth the time was never right, or rather the time was usually ten minutes to the end of the world. He snorted. He'd wait a week and then tell her, whatever the Watcher said. There was too much at stake not to tell her.  
  
At least she was probably going to be allowed back into school soon. Joyce Summers, displaying all the fierce determination of a non-slayer member of the Summers family, had collected an impressive amount of documentation and advice together about her daughter's right to a public education, and was becoming quite the legal expert. According to Giles, Snyder was being outmanoeuvred and would soon – as in tomorrow - have to run up the white flag, unless he wanted a very public, not to mention one-sided, legal case being made against him. Heh. What a shame. Speaking of Giles, he had to make sure that he got in early the next day to explain to the Watcher why all the power outlets in his office were being used.  
  
He moved the sword into a slightly more comfortable position on his hip and stared down at the envelope again. The Host of Caritas had told him to open it on a certain day, and the day had arrived. It was a little unsettling. It was like having a ticking bomb on him. The Host's last prediction had led to a hell dimension. What would this one lead to? Taking a deep breath he ripped the envelope open and looked down at the paper inside. Then he reached in and unfolded the contents. On it the Host had written: "Corner of Third and Blekin, underpass, 11pm. Easily dustable. Check the manifest. Bzzzz."  
  
"Much with the cryptic comments," muttered Xander. Okay, Third and Blekin was about two miles away. It was 10pm now, so he had plenty of time to work out the meaning of the rest of it. He knew the underpass well – it led to the nastier side of Sunnydale. The nastier human side that it. 'Easily dustable' probably meant vampires. Okay. But what manifest? And 'Bzzzz?' What did that mean? Killer giant vampire bees? Or a flickering streetlight? He shrugged and strode off.

* * *

Master Sergeant Armstrong was in a very bad mood. It was late, the truck's transmission was playing up, he'd had to stop not once but twice to mend flat tyres and now he was lost. Plus he was three hours past the ETA. Great, just great. Stuck in Hicksville, on the road to nowhere. He should never have agreed to the posting. He had no idea what was being set up but he did not want to know. Supply runs in plain clothes made him uneasy. Hell, being out of uniform made him uneasy. Come to think of it, everything about this place made him uneasy. He scowled down at the map and then looked around through the windscreen of the motionless truck. He was on a side road with bad lighting and no street markings. Two drunks were weaving down the street towards him, drinking from a bottle and singing a bad version of a Meatloaf song.  
  
Hell, why hadn't they been able to get the funding for those GPS systems? That would've made life so much sweeter. But no, minimal equipment. No suspicions, they said. Especially no civilian suspicions. Well, that was just peachy. He'd have to get out and ask two drunks the best way to the Campus. He just hoped that they weren't too slammed.  
  
Sighing, he opened the door and swung down out of the cab. The taller drunk was now talking about someone called Maria who'd dumped him for some loser called Gnarl, or something like that. Armstrong frowned. Hicksville sure had some odd names.  
  
"Excuse me," he said, trying his best not to sound too military. If Major Grant got to hear about this, there would be hell to pay. "I'm looking for the approach road to the University of Sunnydale, could you guys point me in the right direction?"  
  
The drunks stopped. This close he could see that they were younger than he had thought. "Wow, man," said the short one, "Talk about serendipity. That is so cool. You said it back there and here's something now. " Armstrong gritted his teeth and bit back a snapped command to stop talking bullshit and just give him some directions. Then he stopped dead. Their faces had changed, twisted somehow, with ridges appearing on their foreheads and suddenly very sharp canines.  
  
"Yeah," said the taller one, "Funny how you bump into something to eat when you're hungry." Then he lunged. Armstrong tried to scream, tried to make a sound, but they were biting at his neck, the pain was terrible and it was getting dark, very dark...

* * *

The corner of Third and Blekin was deserted. It was also wind-blown, dusty and dead. Nothing had been happening when Xander had arrived and now, close to 11pm, nothing was doing a repeat performance. He sighed and leant against a mailbox, having first checked the side of it in case any dogs had left a liquid deposit. Patience was important for a Jedi, but he was both bored and curious. Being bored had an easy remedy these days however, he could just take a stroll through his memories. He closed his eyes. His control of the force, combined with all the mental training he'd been doing, made it easy to recall things. Like the Battle of Kamino and the importance of finding a way out of a seemingly impossible position with a little lateral thinking.  
  
He opened his eyes again. Somewhere off to one side he could hear a truck. From the sound of it, the vehicle's transmission was a bit off. And as it came into sight, it was obvious that it was being driven in an extremely erratic manner. There were two men in the cab, two men who felt wrong in the force... vampires. Aha, he thought, the Host shoots and he scores! Then he paused. The truck was moving at about 40 miles an hour. Intercepting it would be tricky. He could always use the force for a force jump onto the roof of the cab, but the underpass was close and judging it would be tricky... Then he looked at the cab again and changed his mind. The way it was being driven, or rather not driven, would make it stop soon enough, he realised as he stepped back hurriedly. The two figures were struggling over what looked like a bottle, leaving the steering in the lap of the Gods.  
  
The Gods obviously were not impressed, as the truck sped past Xander, bounced onto the sidewalk, smashed the mailbox to one side and then hit a buttress to the side of the underpass. The truck stopped dead in an impressively abrupt manner with a horrible clattering crunch, the engine died and a cloud of steam shot up from the smashed radiator. Xander walked over.  
  
As he approached the right hand door opened and a shaky figure emerged, clutching a bottle of Jack Daniels and with his game face on. "Man," he said, "That was close. Almost broke the bottle! You suck at driving, man, we'll never get to DeMarco's place!" Then he noticed Xander. "Wow, I fancied a snack! Hey Bob, your serpen... siren... serendipity, wow I said it, thing just kicked in again!" There was a groan from the cab in response.  
  
"Not quite," said Xander, drawing his sword. "In fact, just the opposite." The blade flashed and the now headless drunken vampire crumbled into a cloud of dust. The bottle smashed on the ground, which drew some attention from the groaning occupant of the cab.  
  
"Hey, Frank you klutz, you break the bottle again? Frank? Ow, I think I landed on my keys." Bob crawled out of the cab and looked at the sword in front of him. "Oh, hell." "You said it," was the reply, and Bob joined Frank as a part of the landscape. Some of him landed in the puddle of Jack Daniels which was, Xander reflected, highly appropriate.  
  
Peering into the cab he winced as he caught sight of a body. Whoever he was he had been quite big and was now quite dead. Seeing the holes in the side of the heavily muscled neck Xander checked the mouth and was relieved to find no blood. The guy wouldn't join the ranks of the undead. As for the rest of the cab, it was a wreck. Torn wiring and pieces of plastic were everywhere, the windscreen had shattered and only the radio looked intact but battered. That was odd. The radio... he leant forwards. This was not a standard civilian radio. It looked military to him.  
  
Right then... manifest? He rummaged around and finally pulled out a battered clipboard. It had seen better days. Originally the papers on it had been covered in clear plastic, but that had been ripped off at some point, leaving the manifest in a bad way. Bits had been ripped off, other bits had blood on them and it smelt as if some of the Jack Daniels had splashed onto the rest. He held it up to the light and flipped through, growing more and more intrigued, along with frustrated at the gaps.  
  
Okay, this was a supply shipment to something called an Internal Operating/Research Base, codenamed I-something, provisionally commanded by someone called Major Squiggle. It was hard to read. The dead guy had orders to deliver the cargo (see overleaf for manifest) to the base by 2000 Hours, 2nd October, submitting the cargo to Captain Drew-something or other. After that it got very bitty. He could see mention of someone called Dr M. big blob of blood-sh, delivery point Alpha, slash more blood, tattered scrap of paper, smear.  
  
"Hmmm," he muttered. "I heard of Fort Fremont and the other areas. But nothing close to here." He shrugged. Well, it was a mystery. He flipped over to the manifest. Aha. Mention of three dozen assault rifles, ammunition included in box 235/J, computer parts for a Cray, wow that was a big computer wasn't it, four centrifuges?  
  
Getting down from the cab he walked to the back of the truck. It had the remains of a lock on the doors, but most of it was missing so he presumed that the late Frank and Bob had got there first. And from their mention of DeMarco, who was a notorious gang leader in downtown Sunnydale, he could guess where they were going with the guns.  
  
Opening the doors he looked into a scene of chaos. The vampires had rummaged around thoroughly and the crash hadn't help matters. It looked as if a bomb had gone off inside it. Fortunately the ammunition was still crated. He didn't want to start slipping on unsecured rounds. Hum. Guns, computer parts and centrifuges? Odd combination. Sounded like a military research place. Ominous. Then he looked further down the list and stopped dead. Wow, he thought dazedly. That explains the 'Bzzzz'. Looking up he waded through the contents of the truck, looking from side to side keenly. After a while he used the force to lift a stanchion up and reached down to pick up a small box. Checking the serial number stencilled on the side he opened it carefully. Not perfect, but good enough with some adjustments and a cooling mechanism in place...  
  
"In the name of the Galactic Republic, I hereby requisition this part," he muttered to himself as he got out of the back. That would have to do. Jedi could appropriate items if they were in dire need, and this came under that category. A smile crossed his face as he thought of Anakin 'borrowing' some transport on Coruscant.  
  
Then he closed the doors, picked up a stray piece of metal and replaced the lock, using the force to twist it firmly into place. No sense in taking chances. Then he walked back to the cab and pulled and prodded at the wiring that led to the radio. The battery was fine so... aha, the power button lit up. He looked back at the manifest. The number '34' was scrawled in one corner and he would lay good odds on that being the communication frequency. He dialled it in and picked up the handset.  
  
"Hello? Anybody there?" he said into it.  
  
There was a pause. Then an irritated voice said: "This is an official frequency, please get off the air now."  
  
"I'd love to," said Xander, "But I'm speaking from a wrecked cab with a dead driver next to me, big guy, no neck, I'm guessing military, with a manifest marked 345/IN/Omega. This thing's next to the underpass close to Third and Blekin in Sunnydale, so I'm guessing you need to get some people over here and make with the cover story."  
  
There was a confused noise from the speaker and then a new, much younger, voice said: "Who is this? What happened to the driver?"  
  
Xander made a face. "I'm your average anonymous tip-off, and you wouldn't believe me in a million years if I told you how he died."  
  
He was about to turn the radio off when the new voice said: "Try me."  
  
"Vampires," replied Xander and turned the power off. That should give them a bit of warning. Pocketing the box he ambled off. This was about to be a very unsafe environment if he wanted to be Mr Anonymous Jedi. He scratched the back of his neck and looked off to the northwest. He was getting odd signals from his Slayer-scope again, as if another Slayer was getting closer to Sunnydale. Well, this was turning into a real Curate's Egg of a night, as Giles would say. The scary thing was that he knew what that meant. Hoo boy.

* * *

It was a bar in Los Angeles. He couldn't remember the name, but the normal crowd from Wolfram & Hart wouldn't be seen dead there. Lindsey stared muzzily at the glass of beer in front of him. It really should have been whiskey, but he wasn't in the mood to get despondent. No, he was just in the mood to wonder what the hell he had done when he agreed to come to work for Holland Manners. It had seemed such a good idea at the time. Money, influence, eventually power. He could build a career, be someone, unlike his father's pathetic life. Dirt poor and hungry, turned out of one home and forced to take whatever he could. While, he, Lindsey, had fought to get out of that dustbowl of a town, had fought to get an education, had battled his way into Law School, had made a name for himself as a brilliant young lawyer, enough to be noticed and groomed by Manners.  
  
Who had introduced him to Wolfram & Hart, a firm with some very unconventional clients. He winced, drained the rest of the beer and called for another one. The barman brought it over and he slipped him a five dollar note. "Keep the change," he said in a steady voice. Sipping the beer he winced as a memory surfaced. Kakistos had been a large vampire. Old too, so old that his demonic side was on permanent display, which was not a pretty sight. All cloven hands. Yuck. And then there was his aide, a black vampire with the odd name of Mr Trick, who was much more clever than his master. Both had... interesting... tastes. This had involved two young female vampire prostitutes, a room in the guest quarters floor of Wolfram & Hart and two young women who thought that they were attending an audition for a film. Sadly, they would never break into films. They would never do anything at all, ever again, although Kakistos had kept one finger bone to use to pick his teeth with. The others had thought that was funny.  
  
Lindsey didn't. He had kept his face expressionless, told them to ring if they had any problems and then gone down to his office and stared at the wall for half an hour. When it had come time to see his 'guests' into their limo he had played the eager host, waved them off, accepted Holland's compliments and then left to find a suitable bar.  
  
"What the hell am I doing?" he muttered. Looking up he caught sight of his face in the mirror over the bar and turned away hurriedly. "What am I?"

* * *

Fumbling with his briefcase Giles walked into the library and looked around. Good, no late returns to replace on the bookcase. Willow had set up a computerised filing system that gave him the willies and which was almost too much for his technophobic self. He yawned. A cup of tea would go down very nicely indeed. Coffee even.  
  
Passing into his office he put his briefcase down and then looked around for the kettle. That was odd, it was unplugged. Then he saw the leads going to the power outlet and blinked hard. Looking around the office he could see that the other three outlets were all connected up to a series of what looked like jump cables, which led in turn to a small metal cylinder that was about four inches tall and two inches wide. A little orange light was blinking on top of it. As he watched it flicked out and a green light came on. This too started to blink. Next to it was a note. "Do not touch."  
  
Giles looked at it bemusedly. Obviously something was being charged with power. The question was, what? He heard the clump of feet and stuck his head out of the office. Xander was standing at the weapons cabinet, replacing the sword that he had borrowed the previous day. He glanced up at Giles.  
  
"Hey, Giles. Ah. You're probably going to ask me why your office is full of what looks like junk."  
  
"Do you mean this... contraption in here?" asked Giles with a frown and a wave of the hand in the general direction of the whatever it was.  
  
"Yeah. It's a power cell. I've been working on it for a while, finally finished it yesterday. It's been powering up..." he glanced at his watch. "Well, for the past 12 hours. Should be finished in another three or so. Sorry, but if I'd powered it up at home the electric bill would killed my dad."  
  
"You mean I'm going to be without tea – I mean power – for the next three hours?" said an aghast Giles.  
  
Xander frowned and pulled out an extension cord. "Nope, all you have to do is plug this baby in over there and you are back in business with the tea- making." He tossed it over to Giles, who connected it up and walked back into his office, where he put the kettle on.  
  
"Ah," said Giles, as he returned clutching a mug of coffee and smacking his lips. Then: "A power cell for what, Xander? I'm no expert, but that thing looks extremely advanced."  
  
The pseudo-Jedi hesitated as he looked at the Watcher. "I'm constructing a lightsabre, Giles."  
  
There was a pause. Then Giles pulled his glasses off and started to polish them. He felt stunned. "You, you have the knowledge to do that?" he asked after a while. "To construct something so advanced? Xander, are you sure that this is a good idea?"  
  
The younger man sat down at the table and put his hands on its surface before looking up. "Giles, I'm not a true Jedi without a lightsabre. Possession of one... makes a Jedi in a fundamental way that I can't begin to explain. True Jedi make their own lightsabres, but making one here on Earth hasn't been the easiest of things to do. It's taken me some time and I've still got a lot of work to do. But yes, I think that it is a good idea." Then he grinned. "Plus, imagine the look on all those fang-faces when they see a lightsabre in action." Then he turned slightly and looked over to the east. "By the way Giles, did you know that we have another Slayer in town?"  
  
Giles followed his gaze and then turned back. "Really? You, you can tell?"  
  
"Oh yeah, there's another big Buffy-sized blip in the force over there somewhere. Felt her arrive last night." He smiled wryly. "Two slayers tend to attract bad news, Giles. So, who is the new Slayer anyway? Who got the call after Kendra died?"  
  
"Good question," he replied. "I'm not sure. I did hear mention of a girl in Boston, but sadly the Watcher's Council wasn't more specific. I can make some enquiries though. And perhaps Buffy can make contact with her. I feel that she needs distracting a little." He sighed. Even with the imminent return to school of his charge, he was still very worried about her. She still had not talked in any great detail about the events of the night that she had killed Angel. However, he fully intended to get her to open up about it. Some carefully phrased questions perhaps, to allow her to unburden herself of the guilt that she must be feeling.  
  
Nodding, Xander stood up. "Okay, I've got to get going. The joys of Math await. I'll have a word with Willow and then start a Slayer-search. Something doesn't quite feel right about her, I'm picking up more weird vibes." Picking up his bag he strode out, pausing by the door to allow Principal Snyder to walk angrily past without seeing him. "Ooh, much anger there," he quipped and then was gone.  
  
Giles blew on his coffee and then took a sip. Life was certainly getting interesting. If someone had told in London three years ago that he would now be living on a Hellmouth, taking care of a Slayer whose best friends included a budding witch, a monosyllabic werewolf and a Jedi Knight he would have laughed his head off and then had them committed to an asylum.

* * *

Buffy's first day back at school had been a mixed one. On the one hand the sight of the defeated Snyder had been something wonderful to watch. Her Mom had put it best: "Neah, neah, ne-neah neah!" And the sheer amount of joy that Willow had put out had been impressive.  
  
On the other hand Xander kept staring off somewhere and muttering about fear and darkness when he thought that no-one was listening and Giles had asked a number of probing questions about the night that she had sent Angel to hell. She had been deeply shaken by that, it had brought up a lot of very bad memories. As for Xander, something was way wiggy there. He was not the old Xander. He was more serious, more focussed and his grades were a lot better. She couldn't shake the feeling that something else was going on there, that something remained unsaid. The fact was that her friends were still a little careful around her, and she sighed. Life was not the same. She had a lot to deal with.  
  
But the Bronze remained the Bronze, a place to shake it all loose and then twirl with the party spirit and she was looking forward to strutting her stuff. They were off to meet Willow and Oz there, those two little love monkeys. Why was Xander frowning then?

* * *

Oh crap, thought Xander, she's in there. The other Slayer's in the Bronze. What are odds on that one? She was putting up a big damn blip in the force, a blip that had been increasingly worrying him. She felt different from Kendra and very different from Buffy. He could sense undercurrents of pure emotion running off her. Fear. Hate. Anger, oh boy was there a lot of anger there. But fear was the biggie.  
  
As they entered the Bronze he looked around, probing with the force. There she was. The new Slayer was dark-haired and curvy, with knowing eyes. And dancing like a dervish. Wow. He frowned. This one was much more exuberant.  
  
As they joined Willow and Oz he chose a chair where he could see the dance floor clearly. The new Slayer was already dancing with someone else, whose girlfriend was not pleased. Oh, and a vampire was eying her up. The guy had multi-coloured braces and looked terribly 1988. He sighed. The Bronze drew young-looking vampires like a magnet. Apparently they were unable to get the simple fact that as the Slayer went to High School, and High School students hung out at the Bronze, therefore the Bronze = the Slayer. And a dusty death.  
  
As he watched the dark-haired girl changed partners yet again, this time dancing with the vampire, who obviously couldn't believe his luck. Xander looked around to see that Buffy had followed his gaze and was frowning at the pair.  
  
"She's pretty wild," said the blonde Slayer, "And he's pretty undead." She shook her head. "There goes the compliment. Oh, there goes the invitation to 'step outside', and there goes the wink. And there's Cordy chatting up Scott Hope, the strumpet!" She added the last in an anguished tone of voice.  
  
Xander looked at her wryly. She had been making with the goo-goo eyes at Hope for the past few days. "Buffy," he chided gently, "Priorities here. Vamp needs staking. Girl needs saving."  
  
"Oh yeah," said Buffy distractedly. "Come on."  
  
But as it happened, and as Xander knew, the girl did not need saving. By the time that they had reached the pair, the dark-haired Slayer was kicking the vampire all over the place, adding a few headbutts and some even harder punches for good measure. Finally, having borrowed Mr Pointy from a stunned Buffy, she put him out of his misery.  
  
"Hi, you must be Buffy," she introduced herself. "I'm Faith."  
  
And Xander stared at her carefully. This girl was brittle, her wisecracks and her racy stories aside. She was a Slayer but she was far too angry. And up close all that fear was just under the surface. The way that she would occasionally check out what was behind her. The faint air of jumpiness. The eyes. Oh, those eyes. There was something there behind them, alright. She was on the run from someone or something, and given the fact that she had arrived on a Hellmouth, he would have said probably something. As they all chatted in the Bronze Xander sat silently at the back. He was busy using the force to see if anything nasty had arrived in town. So far nothing, but that didn't mean that something wasn't out there. And he would talk to Giles the next morning. At least the Watcher had his power outlets back.  
  
The Watcher did indeed have everything ship-shape and Bristol-fashion, whatever that meant, the next day as Xander sat down with him to discuss the new Slayer in town.  
  
"Yes. Well," said Giles as he stirred his tea thoughtfully. "I admit that she is, well, a little feisty. Very exuberant. Very..."  
  
"Giles, I can sense the word 'bumptious' hanging in the air here."  
  
"Well, I was going to say 'fiery', but bumptious will do as well. Why are you so concerned?"  
  
Leaning forward in his chair, Xander placed his fingertips together and touched his chin. "She feels different from Buffy and Kendra, Giles. She feels... darker. Wilder. And she has more than aggression in her tank Giles, she has a lot of fear. She's running from something, I don't know what and I don't know why, but she is afraid of something."  
  
The door had opened as he had been talking and they glanced up to see Willow, sans Oz for once. She placed her books on the desk and then looked over at them.  
  
"Who's afraid of what, Xander?"  
  
"We, we were just discussing Faith. Xander seems to think that something might be amiss with her."  
  
Willow hurried over and sat next to Xander. "Wow, have you felt a tremor in the force? Are you going to get a vision?" He looked at her bemusedly.  
  
"Wills, she just doesn't feel right. I think she's afraid of something. Although what would a Slayer be afraid of?"  
  
Shrugging, Giles stood. "No Slayer is invincible, Xander. As we know, the Hellmouth here tends to attract the forces of darkness. There's always something on the horizon."  
  
"And sometimes," said Xander, "It's bigger than the horizon."  
  
"My point precisely," answered Giles. He looked very serious for a moment. "Yes, well, lets not get too ahead of ourselves. Faith's Watcher is currently on Watcher's Retreat, something of a holiday, although as I told Buffy earlier on, I've never been invited, worse luck. I can get a message to Mrs Horrocks later on."  
  
Xander stirred in his seat. He'd had the feeling that something was off with that part of what Faith had said. He wasn't sure why, but something was wrong about the way that she had said it. It was just a feeling though and, picking up his bag he left with Willow, who turned to him after they left the Library.  
  
"Xander, why did Giles go all serious when he was talking about no Slayer being invincible?"  
  
He winced. He'd been hoping that she hadn't noticed that. As a Jedi he had to tell the truth. "Wills," he said quietly as they walked down the hallway, "Buffy is rather different from most Slayers. She's been one for three years now. That's a long time according to Giles. A long time for a Slayer that is. Many of them never make it to two years. Living on a Hellmouth doesn't help. Giles's worst nightmare is to lose Buffy, it's every Watcher's worst nightmare. And we need to help her make it." She has a Jedi on her side, he added silently. Which reminded him. He had work to do.

* * *

Buffy and Faith made with the slaying that night, something that he heard about afterwards from Giles. That was a shame, because he wanted to see how the new Slayer handled herself. But by the time that he heard about it, it was all over. And, according to Giles, Buffy was worried about Faith's attitude, which appeared to be strike first and then beat the living crap out of it. She had not been as efficiently economical as Buffy, who preferred the surgical strike.  
  
Giles was also extremely worried. Apparently one of the vampires the two Slayers had encountered had mentioned the name of Kakistos, a very old and very powerful Vampire who had been kicking around since the fall of the Persian Empire. The Watcher was now on the phone to England, trying to get in touch with Mrs Horrocks, so far unsuccessfully, while Xander, Oz and Willow waited around the desk. Buffy had been sent off to find Faith.  
  
He felt jumpy for some reason. Something felt, well, not right, like the feeling you got before a storm. He shook himself. It was a good chance to practice some forms, thought Xander and he wandered over to the weapons cabinet. Opening it he looked over the selection on off. Nothing was as good as Aquila but eventually he picked up the sword he'd used a few nights before. Swinging it carefully he dropped into a combat stance and then moved into the first defensive posture, as any good Jedi would. As Willow and Oz watched he then went through into the second and then third defensive positions, before changing gears and sliding into the first offensive posture, which he had always been quite fond of.  
  
"So, how does it work?" asked a fascinated Oz. "How many positions are there for Jedi swordwork?"  
  
Flashing into the fourth and then fifth offensive, Xander paused. "Five basic defensive and five offensive positions. Defence first. As the green guy said, the force is used for knowledge and defence, but never for attack. Even when defending yourself it's only to be used when called for. There are more advanced forms after that, but that takes more practice." As he said this he moved into the first advanced defensive posture and he heard the sound of raised voices in the office. Returning to a normal stance he turned to the door. There was the sound of a phone being slammed down and Giles hurried through.  
  
"That was the Watcher's Council. Mrs Horrocks isn't on Retreat, she's dead. Tortured to death according to the police. You were right, Xander, Faith is running. She's running from Kakistos, who actually signed his name on her Watcher. And if those missing person reports are anything to go by, he's here. In Sunnydale. Now." He turned to Xander. "You are best equipped to find them both at once. Find them and bring them back here at once. We'll prepare in case we have company of the vampiric sort. Go!"  
  
Xander ran.

* * *

The force couldn't lend him wings, but it could do two things. He knew where they were thanks to it – two Slayers, together, big signal – and he could hitch a lift using it. Seeing a truck that looked as it was going in the right general direction, he force-jumped onto the back of it and clung on, his sword in his belt. When it looked as if the truck was going to turn away from the general direction he needed to go in, he jumped ship to a second truck that was headed the right way.  
  
They were over there... and something was there with them. Urgh. Giles had said that Kakistos had been around for so long that his demon side had subsumed his human shell. Well yeah, and the demon stank of the dark side. It was powerful.  
  
Think this through, he thought desperately, come on, where are those tactics you are so proud of? The truck made a turn and he got to his feet, looking up. Then he force leapt straight up some 15 feet, got a good hold on a street light, swung up and tucked into a ball, to land on his feet at the bottom of a fire escape. Then he ran up the stairs to the flat roof of the building and looked down. Perfect, excellent visibility.  
  
Okay... Buffy and Faith were both in that building over there – with Kakistos approaching rapidly. This was bad, there were vampires all around, six, no seven of them, not including Khaki Trousers, as Buffy had apparently referred to him. Hm. They weren't all together, they were staggered around. He looked around, assessing locations and the layout of the buildings. Crap. He heard a crash of breaking glass and Buffy and Faith came into view, running hard. But from the layout of the place... they were running into an ambush. Kakistos was smarter than he looked, which, as he came into view, was ugly as hell. Flunkies walked behind him.  
  
"Okay," said Xander quietly, "Time for a plan." Flank them, get in hard while they thought they were just dealing with two Slayers, and then mix it up with them. Three against eight was bad odds. So, he had to reduce those odds. Leaping down he swung off the end of the fire escape and hit the ground running.

* * *

Faith was afraid. Oh god, was she afraid. Kakistos, the thing that had murdered Horry, the nearest thing she'd had to a mother since her real one had been put away for five to ten, was hunting her. She looked to one side. Buffy was there. The blonde had it all here, was impossibly perky, was impossibly staid when it came to the joys of slaying, but she was glad she was here. Faith gripped the piece of wood in her hand convulsively. Coulda, shoulda, woulda, she thought despairingly. Should have told them all the truth. Should have told them that the thing was on his way. But he had beaten her so easily that she was embarrassed by the whole thing. She didn't want to remember what had happened. She certainly didn't want to remember Horry's screams. Dear old Horry, with her muffins and the smell of old perfume, reduced to a bloodied hulk.  
  
She shuddered and then caught sight of a vampire to one side. Another one was next to it and the two Slayers veered away down the alleyway. As Buffy had said earlier, escape first, then slay. They turned a corner and stopped dead. There was no way out of the alleyway.  
  
"They herded us," said Buffy in an angry voice. Then she span around. "Faith, we have to fight here. You can do it, Faith, you can fight him."  
  
She felt her face crumple slightly as the fear shot through her. No. She couldn't fight him then and she couldn't fight him now. He was too strong. Too strong. There was a growl from behind her and she turned. Three vampires were rushing straight at them.  
  
Buffy grabbed one and threw him against the wall before grappling with him, Faith staked the other one as it came close and the third... there was a whizzing noise as a sword came out of the night at neck height and decapitated the vampire. The weird thing was that the sword then whizzed around back the way it had come and snacked into the outstretched hand of one of Buffy's friends, the other almost silent one. Xander wasn't it? He grinned at her and then, turning with incredible speed, hacked the arm off a passing female vampire, which didn't even have time to scream before he then hacked her head off.  
  
Buffy was still busy with her assailant and Faith was about to go to help when a cold and cloven hand reached out and grabbed the back of her neck.  
  
"Hello again, Faith," said a gravelly voice behind her and she sobbed with fear. Kakistos. The hand moved backwards slightly and then she was flying across the alleyway, the wall ahead coming towards her... and then something was there, the very air seemed to catch her and turn her and pull her away from the wall.  
  
Falling to her knees she looked up. Xander was standing there, one hand raised towards her and a look of deep concentration on his face. She gaped at him incredulously.  
  
"Here," he said, and the sword he was carrying flew though the air to land at her feet. "Try that," and then he ducked under the flailing fist of the vampire that had been creeping up behind him before spinning in midair and kicking him so hard that he flew yards back and sprawled.  
  
Faith grabbed the sword, rolled forwards and came to her feet to stare at Kakistos, who was also staring at Xander. "What are you, human?" he ground out and then brought his attention back to Faith.  
  
Too late; the moment that she saw that his attention was elsewhere, she struck. The sword sheared through the thick muscles in his neck, lodged on his spine and then slid free. Kakistos screamed as the blood spurted and fell to his knees, clutching at the wound. Faith stepped up and grasped the sword more tightly. "This is for Horry," she spat and then struck again. This time the sword made it all the way though. The ancient vampire's head rolled off his shoulders and he crumbled to dust.  
  
Faith stood there, tears rolling down her face. Then she shakily pushed her hair back from her face and looked at Xander, who had just staked the vampire he had been fighting and was coughing the dust away. "Cool sword," she smiled. She was five by five now.  
  
"Nah, you should have seen the one I had before," he replied and then span to throw his stake. It seemed to speed up in the air, hitting the vampire in the chest and sending him the way of his compatriots.  
  
"How..." she began and then stopped as he walked forwards and put his finger on his lips.  
  
"Let's just say the force is with me," he muttered, smiling, and then looked over at Buffy, who was in the middle of what looked like a major ass- kicking of her opponent. There was a half-scream and the vampire exploded into dust.  
  
The blonde looked over. "Xander?"  
  
"Hey Buff. Giles thought you might need some help."  
  
"Wowzer, how'dya find us?"  
  
Faith was about say that the guy thought that the force was with him, when he looked at her and shook his head ever so slowly. Then he turned back to his friend. "I went towards the sound of the slayage, Buff. What else?"

* * *

Major McDermott sighed as he caught sight of Colonel Harrison. The guy looked serious as he strode up to him, the clipboard in one hand.  
  
"Tom," said Harrison.  
  
"Good evening sir," he replied.  
  
"This is a major screwup Tom, the Brass is screaming about it from here to the Pentagon. A shipment of supplies gets waylaid, and by HSTs by all accounts!" He held his hand out to stop McDermott's protests. "I know, I know, the orders said minimal personal involvement and to use civilian equipment to appear inconspicuous. Well, it looks like we screwed up. Armstrong's family have been informed and at least we got the bulk of the shipment back intact. But still, this is bad, Board of Enquiry bad."  
  
"I protested standing orders, sir, the record will show that."  
  
"I know, and I'm fighting in your corner for this, Tom," replied the black Colonel. "But we still have a shipment waylaid, a man dead, a truck wrecked and the most advanced piece of equipment in the country gone, on your watch. What did Riley say about the voice on the radio again?"  
  
"American, young, with knowledge of HSTs, he said. And the forensic department said that the remains of two vampire HSTs were scattered around the truck."  
  
"Well. Good. Fact remains, there will be a Board of Enquiry though. And although I think they'll acquit you, I think that you will be posted somewhere else after."  
  
McDermott pulled a face. He was hoping to stay on and see to the further growth of the base. After all, he'd been there from day one.  
  
"If they do post me, who'd get command, sir?"  
  
"Walsh. Apparently Maybourne's been pressing for her to get the nod."  
  
McDermott pulled another face. He didn't trust Walsh, but no-one else in the chain of command seemed to share his feelings. Frankly the scientist freaked him out. She had an obsession with dissecting HSTs.  
  
"Well then," he said slowly. "Let's do this thing."

* * *

Standing at the desk in the library Xander gently pushed the cooling rod into place and let out a quiet breath of relief. After all the evening's excitement he was finally able to get back to working on his lightsabre. He had modified the superconductor he had requisitioned from the truck carefully, installing cooling rods that he had jerry-rigged out of a quintet of thin quartz crystals and a tiny condenser pump that he had manufactured out of spare parts.  
  
Connecting up the superconductor to the power cell he carefully fitted everything into the main casing and aligned it all. A wonky lightsabre beam would be a menace. The recut sapphire was in place in the holding arms and he snapped everything together.  
  
Giving it all one last check-up he closed the mounting shut and then picked it up. It felt good, the right weight, the right balance. Question was, would it work? If it didn't, there would be a large hole in the ground with Xander- bits strewn around. He quashed that thought. He had checked and double- checked and, yes, triple-checked everything at every stage of production. He was still nervous though.  
  
He walked to the centre of the library and looked down at the lightsabre. His knuckles cracked as he flexed his free hand. Then he thumbed the switch. With that familiar low hum of power the blue blade extended itself and he grinned like a school kid, remembering the first time that he had seen a lightsabre in A New Hope.  
  
The blade buzzed through the air as he weighed it up and then he fell into the second advanced defensive position before swinging into the third and then fourth.  
  
Xander Harris smiled. He felt complete for the first time since Halloween. He was a Jedi Knight. 


	15. Beasts And Burdens

Apologies for the delay in getting this out. My computer also crashed halfway through loading this thing for the first time, so grr. Please enjoy!  
  
(Another Grr – another amendment didn't slip in. Apologies, the non-human side Xander can sense is not to Scott but to Pete. I did alter it, but I had a nightmare night with my computer, plus I'm short on sleep.)  
  
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Rumours do not normally spread quickly in the vampire community. This one, however, was a hell of a big one. It started small: "There's a human in Sunnydale who thinks he's a Jedi, can you believe it?" Then it changed to: "There's a human in Sunnydale who thinks he's a Jedi and he's got a broomstick painted blue for a lightsabre!" The next change was to: "There's a guy in Sunnydale who thinks he's a Jedi and he's got a real sharp sword." The last rumour was the final one: "There's a Jedi in Sunnydale."  
  
This one tended to get scoffed at a lot by those who didn't know any better and who didn't go out looking for the Jedi. Which was quite impressive, given the fact that the rumour had been going around for less than a day.  
  
------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
The lightsabre had been a big success, thought Xander, as he looked down at the device hanging on his belt. And it had been thoroughly tested after he ran into a vampire gang in one of the town's main cemeteries that night. They'd been holding some kind of initiation ceremony for a fledgling. That fledgling hadn't survived the encounter. In fact only two of the gang had survived, after vanishing into the sewer system.  
  
Xander frowned down at the road. The sewers were quite extensive in Sunnydale. Too extensive. Too many manholes. He wondered who had designed it. It seemed a little too convenient for the vampire community. He made a mental note to ask Willow to do some digging into it.  
  
The fact that a few other vampires had then tried to jump him meant that the word was spreading about his new weapon. He had some serious thinking to do about his overall strategy. First things first, he had to talk to Buffy. It was time that she knew about his abilities.  
  
Then he frowned and stared up at the hill. Something was happening there, he could feel it. There was an odd feeling in the force coming from the same direction as the building where Acathla had been. Something felt... stretched, somehow. Twisted, somehow. It felt like something was building there. Acathla... Giles had dumped the demon off the Pacific coastline, locked in a stone casket with a number of sealing spells all over it along with another spell that made the very location massively hard to find. But what about the place where he had been? The spot where a portal had opened to a hell dimension. Oh hell, so to speak.  
  
He turned on his heel and ran for the nearest callbox, where he frantically dialed Giles's number. It rang but no one answered. Cursing he dialed the library instead. After four rings the receiver was picked up and an irritated British voice said: "Yes, can I help you?"  
  
"Giles, it's Xander. I'm getting a big nasty feeling in the force coming from the spot where Angel bit the big one. Are you sure you covered all the bases when you were boarding old stone face up? I mean, is there any chance that something might come through the spot where that portal formed? Something with, oh I don't know, too many limbs for comfort and far too many eyes?"  
  
"Oh dear God. Well, no, I carried out a number of protection spells and made sure that the portal wouldn't open again but... Xander are you sure?"  
  
"Big nasty feeling, Giles. Yuck. Faint sense of a sewer as well, which is disturbing."  
  
There was a confused noise that Xander took to be Giles transferring the phone from one ear to the other whilst doing a number of unseen things like almost dropping it. Then: "Xander, where are you?"  
  
"Corner of Fifth and Grant."  
  
"Very well, I'm on my way to the factory now. Meet me there."  
  
"What about our Slayers?"  
  
"Buffy is patrolling the south side and Faith is looking for a new motel to stay in that is not run by what she described as a 'sleazy dirt bag.'"  
  
"Okay, Giles. See you there."  
  
He replaced the receiver and took off up the street. The feeling was strengthening now. Something was coming.  
  
As he ran he frowned yet again. Buffy was already there, ahead of him, in the building. Wow, okay, that was good. The Slayer was on the case. Then he winced. She would notice his lightsabre, he was sure. Well, she would notice it eventually.  
  
------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
"Goodbye."  
  
Buffy put the Claddagh ring on the floor slowly and stared down at the brown-red stains. Angel's blood. She had stabbed him through the chest with her sword and then sent him into hell on this very spot. She scrubbed a tear from her eye and turned away. Closure, they called it. Putting something like that behind her with a single word was laughable. But she could start with a few steps down the road.  
  
She turned and left the building, looking ahead of her with a fierce determination. She didn't see the running figure off to her left; neither did she hear the strained sounds of an old car that was being driven to the limit of its straining engine.  
  
------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Xander skidded to a halt by the front door and stared over his shoulder in bafflement. Okay, that was odd. She had been there and then she had walked away. Very odd. Admittedly she couldn't sense what he could in the force, but why had she been there at all?  
  
He winced as an engine coughed and rattled to a halt and then looked up. The Watcher was walking quickly towards him clutching a large axe. "Xander," he called out, "What's happening?"  
  
Pulling at the doors with the force he shrugged. "Nothing new." Then he paused and went pale. "Yuck, on second thoughts something is. I feel like a sewer just opened up in my head. Giles, this is nasty. Something is boding. Something feels like the force is having something ripped in it, Giles. There's a hole appearing in there."  
  
They hurried into the building and looked around. Everything seemed normal. It was quiet, even, if rather dusty. But the force was telling him something rather different. Something seemed to be pressing into the hole. He reached down and unclipped his lightsabre. The blue blade hummed into life and he looked around, probing with the force.  
  
Giles was gaping at him with his mouth open and his glasses slightly askew from where he had been adjusting them.  
  
"Good God. Ah. Xander, you, you seem to have finished your lightsabre. Ah. It's very, um, impressive." He came to a halt, started slightly and then looked around keenly, readjusting his glasses again. "Yes, well, let's not get distracted. Where did you say this, this 'hole' was again?"  
  
Xander pointed in the air to a point some ten feet off the ground. Something seemed to be pulsing there, but he wasn't sure if it was visible to Giles. Cracks of what felt like pure evil were now pulsing around it, as if something was pushing through and tearing the space around it. The odd thing was that he could feel something else as well, something that wasn't evil. It was odd.  
  
Something was happening now – a thin beam of white light suddenly burst out downward from the hole, gleaming off a small silver ring that Xander hadn't noticed before, and which was now shaking and almost floating above the floor. Giles swore and moved off to the left while he moved to the right, the lightsabre at the first advanced defensive position, or the 'ready for the mojo' position as he'd renamed it. The light pulsed slightly and then the hole in the force cracked open, forcing him to tighten his grip on the force to quell the horrible feeling he was getting from whatever hell dimension lay beyond it.  
  
More light – he raised his left hand and squinted through the glow that was now lighting up the entire room. And then a naked figure appeared in mid- air and fell heavily to the ground as the light snapped off.  
  
Xander blinked. Whoever he was, he looked human. And he was covered in sweat and trembling like a leaf. Then he did a double take. Whoever it was he had a soul and a demon residing in a dead body. There was only one candidate. Angel.  
  
"Bloody hell," said Giles quietly. The sound of his voice got an instant reaction from the vampire with a soul, who looked up shakily and saw the two of them. He made a noise that sounded like a rusty scream and pushed himself up on his hands and knees, which rapidly gave way beneath him.  
  
Giles looked at Xander quickly. "Xander, is that Angel or Angelus?" His hands were tightening around the handle of the axe and he looked very strained. After all, the last time the two had met Angelus had tortured him mercilessly.  
  
"Angel, Giles, the guy in the white hat. He has a soul." He turned back to Angel, who had hoisted himself back onto his hands and knees again and was hunched back, snarling at them like a dog. "Angel?" he said quietly, doing his best to look into his eyes.  
  
Angel snarled at him again, skidded backwards and then fell over. He was still trembling in every limb. Reaching out with the force Xander looked hard at him. Then he flinched. "Giles this guy's out of it. He's gone feral, I can't feel any real coherent thoughts with the force – he just screams 'welcome to the jungle'. I can't feel anything focused, just lots of jumbled emotions."  
  
Putting his axe down with a sigh, Giles relaxed a little. "Yes, well, we don't know how long he was in there for. As, as you and Buffy experienced, time can run differently in a hell dimension. He might have been in there for years, even decades. Maybe even centuries. It's not surprising that he looks so wild." He winced. "Lets get him somewhere safe. And some clothes for God's sake. And then try to work out what on earth to do with him."  
  
------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Basil and Petal Armstrong had been vampires for about 25 years. They'd been sired by an old friend of theirs who had met the wrong kind of people at Woodstock and who had turned up for dinner one night and rocked their world in a new direction. It had certainly taken the conversation away from Petal's new lentil soup recipe. Petal, who had originally been christened Mabel, but who had rebelled right after meeting Bas and getting high for the first time, had had a few difficulties adjusting to the new diet, but after her attempt to get hold of a BloodVine from a separate hell dimension had fallen through, she'd had to finally renounce being a vegetarian.  
  
Instead she and Bas had done a deal with Dr Mackenzie in the kids clinic along the road from where they'd finally settled in Sunnydale. The deal was a simple one. She would decorate the kid's waiting room with Disney figures on the walls every year while Bas carved non-threatening mobiles for the babies and they both warned Dr Mackenzie when the local vampires were getting restless. In return they got a number of bags of AB Negative a week, which was money for jam. In the meantime, they could spend all the time they liked meditating, debating their violent impulses, writing poetry to each other and discussing the nature of being whilst smoking the best weed that they could get their hands on.  
  
Over the past two years, however, their idyllic lifestyle had come under a lot of strain. The reappearance of the Master had come as a shock, as every vampire in town had been talking about it, and how he would get the slackers off their butts and up to their necks in blood. What a drag. His death had been a relief, but then Spike and Drusilla had turned up, along with their own unique brand of mayhem which, Bas and Petal knew, would attract the attention of the Slayer. They didn't have a problem with the Slayer, she was living proof of the importance of the balance of life. They just didn't want her to turn up and balance them out of things.  
  
Then Angelus had arrived on the scene and things got even worse. Fortunately he had been defeated by the Slayer. But then, after months of calm, something had happened which had finally persuaded them that living on a Hellmouth was just a bad idea, man, really uncool. They had been wandering around the cemetery on a romantic night out when some guy had run into Kelly's gang as they blooded a new fledgling. Too bad for him. But then this dude had pulled out a little stick that then turned into a lightsabre, a real damn lightsabre, man, and then the limbs had started to fly, followed by the dust.  
  
They had looked at each other and made a mutual decision to get the hell away from Sunnydale. Just go.  
  
So now they were busy packing up their things in the old former school bus, including the lava lamp, the pictures from their holiday to Tibet and the shawl that Petal had knitted herself from the wool they had got from a commune where John Lennon had once stayed.  
  
Bas was walking to the bus with the TV when he kinda stumbled, jerked the TV in the air as he did, leapt forwards and caught it literally an inch from the ground. He was expelling a breath of entirely useless air when he noticed that there was a pair of shoes just off to his right. Or rather boots. Quite like the boots worn by the lightsabre guy.  
  
"Oh wow, bad karma, Petal," he moaned. There was a startled shriek from behind him and then a thump as Petal fainted. This was mondo bad.  
  
Then a female voice said: "Hey. You fangfaces opening a 60's memorabilia shop?" and he looked up to see the Slayer standing over him. He let out a sigh of relief and grinned. "Hey baby, it's okay, it's just the Slayer," he called over his shoulder. Then his brain caught up with what his mouth had just said and he froze.  
  
Tilting her head the Slayer said, in tones of sickly sweetness: "Do you want to rephrase that? You really might want to think about it, before I stake the pair of you, you know that don't you?"  
  
"Um, yes," he mumbled. "Sorry dude, I thought you were the lightsabre guy."  
  
"Lightsabre guy?" she said in disbelieving tones. "What are you on?"  
  
"Oh crap, please just let us go Slayer, I mean it we don't bite, it's bad karma man, totally bad karma. We may be vampires but we don't bite, I swear, we try to lead lives of maximum coolness. We're leaving town, you see, we're skipping town."  
  
The Slayer squatted down and looked at him, tapping a really nasty looking stake on the palm of her hand. "You're leaving Sunnydale?" she asked.  
  
"We are so gone."  
  
"Because of this lightsabre guy?" Disbelief dripped off her voice and effectively dribbled on the floor.  
  
"Yeah. We saw him in the St Andrews Cemetery tonight, and man was he scary."  
  
She stood up. "Go," she said. "Don't ever come back. And I will check." And then she was gone. Bas let out another unnecessary breath and looked back to where a scared Petal was staggering back to her feet.  
  
"Baby, we are so out of here."  
  
------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Giles yawned and then chugged a large amount of coffee. It had been a long night. Whilst Xander had held Angel in place with the force, he had returned to the library and picked up some of the chains that Oz had once used to secure himself during his werewolf episodes, chains that had then been used to secure an extremely weak and groggy Angel to one of the walls of the building where he had so unexpectedly dropped in.  
  
Fortunately Oz would not need them for the first of his three nights a month spell as a werewolf, which started today. Instead the laconic werewolf would be locked in the book cage. He looked up at the door as Xander walked in clutching a box of assorted cookies and some muffins. How on earth he managed to stay so fresh still eluded him. It was all something to do with this Jedi business. Giles smiled quietly. When he thought about how much the young man had changed over the past year, it still amazed him. School clown to Jedi Knight, quite a journey.  
  
Xander slid the box onto the table, opened it, grabbed himself some coffee and looked over at him. "Quite a night," he said.  
  
"Yes, indeed," Giles replied. "We need to talk to Buffy as quickly as possible."  
  
------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
When Buffy entered the library she found Giles and Xander seated at the table with Willow, Oz, Cordelia and Faith. The Watcher was talking in a quiet and very tired voice. "-frankly, we have little choice in the matter, as from what Xander tells me-" he broke off to look at her.  
  
"Ah, Buffy. Good. Yes. Um. I-"  
  
But Buffy broke straight in. "Giles, something way wiggy happened last night."  
  
This seemed to throw the Watcher, because he pulled out his handkerchief and started to polish his glasses, a sign that all was not well in the Land of Giles. "Yes, well, very observant of you Buffy, although I am a little baffled as to how you knew about this-"  
  
"How can I not know that something's off with the vamps of Sunnydale?" She sat down and picked up a cookie from the selection in front of her. "Wow, nice cookie. Giles, can a vampire faint?"  
  
He froze and fixed her with a very odd look. "Vampires lack certain physiological conditions to have the ability to faint, Buffy, but I suppose that if one received a sufficient shock it might, so to speak, fool its body. Why do you ask?"  
  
"Because last night I was making with the whole patrolling thing and I notice this pair of vampires loading up an old school bus that had been painted psychedelic pink, like something out of the summer of love but with less taste, and when I stepped up with my 'hello fiends of darkness' approach one of them almost dropped the TV and the lady vamp fainted, which was odd," she said, seemingly without drawing breath once. "Then he told her that it was okay, it was just the Slayer, before realizing that this was not the best way to get on my warm and cuddly side and then he did some major grovelling. If they made it an Olympic event that guy could have grovelled for America. And he mentioned a 'lightsabre guy' but as he was all duded up, he might have just been high on something."  
  
Giles unfroze and resumed polishing. "Was, was this a school bus with the words 'Groovy Love' painted in green letters along one side?"  
  
"Yup. So, hippy vampire friends of yours?"  
  
A pained expression flitted across his face. "Hardly. I don't think that were much into rock or anything much from the latter half of the 70's. I think they were the Armstrongs. Relatively harmless vampires, but still of the undead."  
  
"That's what I thought. So I let them roll out of town after they crossed their unbeating hearts and hoped to die that I'd never catch them in town again." She looked around. "Hey, cookies, coffee, muffins. This looks like a 'recovering from nasty vampire night' party. How come I wasn't invited? What's up?"  
  
Giles and Xander exchanged a long look, while Willow looked troubled, Oz put on his stoic face and Faith grabbed the last of the blueberry muffins, beating Cordelia by a short head. Then Giles looked back at her.  
  
"Buffy, something very odd happened last night. We don't know how or why, but..."  
  
"But what? Come on, Giles, spill."  
  
"Very well. Last night Angel was thrown back into this world. At the very spot where he left it to be precise."  
  
There was a long pause. Buffy slowly put the remains of the cookie back down on the plate. Her hand was shaking slightly.  
  
"Angel's back?" She was proud of the way that her voice refused to tremble. "Where is he?"  
  
Directing a frown at the floor Giles replaced his handkerchief in his pocket and then leant forwards. "Buffy, he's changed a great deal..."  
  
"Where is he," she repeated. "I want to see him."  
  
"Buffy-"  
  
"Now."  
  
------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Seen from the north window the figure was hanging in the chains that were suspended from the wall. It was dressed in a ragged pair of trousers that had been torn along one thigh and at the bottom of one leg and some drops of fresh blood had spattered against the floor. The figure was either asleep or too tired and apathetic to move much beyond an exhausted sway, its feet dragging on the floor.  
  
Buffy stood there in the doorway, her face set like stone. Then she turned like a striking snake. "Why is he in chains?" she hissed at her Watcher, who blinked and took a step back.  
  
"Buffy-"  
  
"I mean his soul is back, that's Angel and not Angelus, how can you do this to him?"  
  
"Buffy-"  
  
"How, Giles, how?" The last words were in a rising wail of noise that reached the chained vampire, because suddenly he was awake and struggling frantically against the chains, pulling in vain against the great bolt that had been driven into the wall above him to secure his fetters. Throwing his head back he let out a rough screech of anger and pain before dropping back to spit and snarl at the figures in front of him like an enraged animal.  
  
Buffy went even paler and took a step forward. "Angel?" she called tentatively. He watched her walk closer and then lunged at the full length of the chains, trying to vain to reach her with a grasping hand while he snarled again. She stepped back and he subsided, panting, to hang on his chains again.  
  
"What happened to him," she whispered in a barely audible voice. "Why is he like that?"  
  
Giles moved forwards and placed a consoling hand on her shoulder. "Buffy, we have no idea how long he was in that, that, well wherever he was. As you and Xander both know, time can move differently in a hell dimension. It might have been years, decades, even centuries of torment for Angel. It would take a mind of uncommon strength and resilience to come back from that. He might recover by, by seeing familiar things and places, but I really can't say if he will ever come back." He looked at the swaying figure again. "He's gone feral, Buffy. The fact that he has even survived is a miracle."  
  
She stood there looking at the chained vampire, who was watching the pair of them warily through half-closed eyes. Then she turned away with tears in her eyes and walked out of the building with Giles following silently behind her.  
  
Entering the sunlight she stopped dead. "Giles, what did you mean when you said that Xander and I both knew what it's like to be in a hell dimension? And how did you and Xander know that he had come back at all?"  
  
He groaned. She'd picked up on his little slip of the tongue. "Ah, well..." he grimaced at her raised eyebrow and implacable expression. "I think that you need to talk to Xander as a matter of some urgency, Buffy. If I told you the truth then I don't think that you'd believe me, or at least if he told you then you'd get more in the way of proof, and my grammar seems to have been shot to hell in this sentence."  
  
"Proof of what? Hey, Willow said that I should talk to him the day after I got back, but I never got round to it. Something does seem to be wiggy with him as well." Her voice dropped off as she the last few words and she half- turned to look back at the building with haunted eyes.  
  
"Proof of what happened to him over the summer," he replied and led the Slayer away.  
  
------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Xander was practicing some forms with a sword in the library in front of a fascinated Faith, who had taken the news about his abilities with a great deal of calmness. After explaining the events of the last Halloween and his subsequent training the other Slayer had shrugged. "Horry always said that life on a Hellmouth was freaky, said that life could get weird. She said that the Watcher's Council had already had some stories about strange things happening around B and Kendra. I never thought that it would get this weird though. What's that thing with the double slash and swing over again?"  
  
Xander grinned, demonstrated the third advanced offensive position and then came to a halt. Turning he put the sword down on the table, looked up at the stairs that led to the back of the library and waited. After a few moments Buffy and Giles appeared. She looked determined. Giles looked flustered.  
  
"Xander, have you ever been to a hell dimension?" the blonde Slayer asked. "Because according to Mr Cryptic here you have. And what was the deal with leaving Sunnydale for the summer?"  
  
Faith flickered an eyebrow and grinned lazily. "I'm leavin' now before Mount Buffy blows and all the little villagers get torched all crispy. Seeya B, Giles. May the force be with you, Xander!" And she was gone with a chuckle.  
  
"Okay, so even Faith knows this... this... whatever the hell it is?" exploded Buffy. She looked angry now. "What. Is. Going. On?"  
  
He looked at Giles, who nodded. Then he let out a breath. He had felt Buffy approach from some distance away. He had also felt her all tense and part angry. He should have told her when she got back from LA. This was his fault.  
  
"Buffy, I'm a Jedi Knight," he said calmly.  
  
This threw her. "You're a what?" she asked incredulously.  
  
"A Jedi Knight. You remember last Halloween and Ethan Rayne's spell?"  
  
"Of course I remember it, I was reduced to a screaming idiot by it. Wills was a ghost and you..." She paused and stared even harder at him, as if seeing him for the first time. "You were Obi-Wan Kenobi. But that was just a spell. We were all normal afterwards, Xander, nothing lasted!"  
  
He sat down quietly. "No, Buffy. Something remained in my head. Call it memories, vestigial abilities or whatever. Not all of Obi-Wan left me, Buff. I could feel the force afterwards and it freaked me out."  
  
"Xander, that's just a film. Can you hear yourself? The force doesn't exist!"  
  
He looked at her levelly. "Like vampires didn't exist? And demons? And things that go bump in the night?" He reached out with the force to unclip the lightsabre from his belt and then brought it up to hover by his side. She caught sight of it as it moved through the air and a look of incomprehension came over her face. Then Xander triggered the power switch and the blade sprang into life with a buzz.  
  
She was gaping at him now and he reached out to grasp the lightsabre and shut it down. Returning it to his belt he looked up at her. This was a lot to lay on her, but she had to see it. Faith had been able to see him in action, which had convinced her quite quickly, but Buffy still saw her goofy old friend. Regardless of what happened, he would always still be her friend.  
  
"I trained with Giles over the months, Buff. I was afraid of my new powers, I guess. I didn't want to fall to the Dark Side. I didn't want to get tempted by these new abilities. Giles taught me a lot. How to use a sword for a start. I didn't tell anyone else because I was still training. Didn't want people worrying about me, not with what happens on the Hellmouth. That was how I was able to get Giles out when Angelus got him. I would have told you afterwards, but..." He shrugged.  
  
"But I went away to LA," she breathed, sinking down in a chair.  
  
"I know. Or, I knew roughly where you were. You put out a big signal in the force, Buffy, a massive signal. But I couldn't locate you exactly and I needed to train, to get as much out of this Jedi thing as I could. You know what life on the Hellmouth is like, you need a reliable ally here and not a Sith. I needed to train myself, access all the Jedi training memories I have in this head of mine. So I went away to my uncle's place in the desert and I trained. That's where all the muscles came from.  
  
"I bumped into a few demons as well, and a hostage they had, and well, to cut a long story short I ended up in a demon karaoke bar in LA, where this green singing demon told me that you would be in trouble that night. So I made with the frantic running and I arrived just in time to see you fall into that pool of black water. I went in after you, found some slaves, killed some demons and then saw some guy loading a crossbow behind you."  
  
She looked up at that. "You were the guy in the shadows," she breathed. "The guy who threw Birdy and got that demon. But you were so high up... Why didn't you say something?"  
  
"The force," he said quietly, "Guided me. And I couldn't exactly lean over the rail and shout 'Hi there Buffy' while you were fighting for your life, could I? You'd been killed maybe, or have gone looking for me and the whole thing would have been one big fat mess. As it was, we got as many prisoners as possible out of there. I didn't stick around because you'd been through enough for one night.  
  
"And since you got back, there never seemed to be the right moment to tell you, Buffy. I'm sorry. I know I should have told you about it, but, well the right time never seemed to be there."  
  
"Faith-"  
  
"She saw me fight last night. You were busy bashing a vamp about the head with a blunt object."  
  
She was still staring at him, stunned. "You're really a Jedi Knight?"  
  
"I'm really a Jedi Knight."  
  
"This is freaky."  
  
"Tell me about it." He smiled at her and then stood up and pulled his jacket on, transferring his lightsabre from his belt to his pocket. Then he walked off to his history class.  
  
------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
During the previous school year he'd discovered the side of the west wing of the school. There was a flat veranda over the chemistry lab and, if you ignored the odd smells that whafted up every now and then, it was a great place to sit and think and look over the skyline of Sunnydale.  
  
As he sat there he felt her presence approach. "Hi Buffy."  
  
"That's very creepy. You can tell where I am?" She walked over and sat next to him quietly.  
  
He smiled. "It's like trying to ignore a searchlight. You put up a big signal."  
  
Taking a deep breath she looked out over the town. "Great view. I never knew this place was here."  
  
"I found it last year. New perspectives."  
  
"Yeah." She glanced at him. "I'm sorry Xander, I didn't mean to freak out on you."  
  
"Nah, it's understandable. It isn't every day you find out that a friend's a secret Jedi."  
  
She smiled. "I can get lessons on the whole 'you don't know people as much as you think you do' from my Mom. Secrets 101."  
  
She glanced at him again. "Nothing's the same, Xander. I came back and everything is different. Mom knows that I slay. Willow is much with the levitating pencils. And you're a Jedi. Oh and Angel fell into this world again, all snarley in a non-vampire way. Nothing's the same. Oh." She fumbled behind her and then brought out a sword disguised in a bag. "This must be yours."  
  
He reached down the pushed the cloth away from the hilt to reveal an eagle. Smiling he picked it up. "Aquila."  
  
"Birdy," she said pertly. "Okay, Aquila. Giles told me where you got it from. I think that you own it more than me."  
  
Shaking his head he pushed it back. "No, Buffy. I liked it, yes, but I think that you can use it better. I have my lightsabre now. It was made to fight evil. You use it."  
  
Sighing deeply, and grasping Aquila uncertainly, she changed the subject. "So, how much of Obi-Wan's memories do you have?"  
  
Looking off into the distance he raised his eyebrows and then frowned slightly in thought. "Training. Apprenticeship. The Battle of Naboo. Start of the Clone Wars, on Genosis. Battle of Kamino. A lot of stuff, Buffy, a lot of death. Starships falling to earth, a thousand points of light stilled as the air escaped from holes in their hulls. A lot of heroism as well. The start of the fall of the Republic and Anakin Skywalker with it. To the Empire and Vader. Nothing after that."  
  
"Wow," she said in a small voice. "I guess it's going to be freaky with Lucas making the prequels to the original Trilogy right now."  
  
An amused snort broke free from him. "Well, just as long as they make JarJar less annoying than he was in my memories, I'll be okay with it."  
  
"JarJar?"  
  
"Gungan – an alien. Big ears, silly accent, amazingly unlucky. Made the old me look like George Clooney. But a loyal friend." He shook himself slightly and brought his mind back to the present. "I felt Angel arrive, Buffy. Or rather I felt the start of it and then I saw him fall from the air in a great flash of light."  
  
"Giles told me. Can't help thinking what brought him back."  
  
"I don't know..." he mused as he watched Jonathan scurry away from the school, his bag full of books. "Something powerful though. The dimension felt stinky, but what brought him back didn't, I think. I just got a flash of it. Maybe we aren't alone in this thing, Buffy."  
  
"What makes you think that?" she asked, staring at him.  
  
"He came back as Angel and not Angelus. I could feel his soul." Looking down at his watch he grimaced. "Oz is making with the hair around now and I have to relieve Willow. Same old patrol from that point of view." He frowned down at the street beneath them. Scott Hope was down there talking to Pete and his girlfriend, Debbie Foley. That guy let off an odd vibe in the force, like there were two people living in the same body. It was almost like the swim team, but without the monster. Or rather there was a different monster there. It was odd.  
  
He shrugged and walked off to meet another monster.  
  
------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Oz was in his fully hairy mode. He was also spitting, snarling and bouncing on the spot. Willow waved goodbye to him - not that the werewolf noticed, except to note that another potential meal/victim/set of bones to gnaw had passed out of his reach. Xander stepped up to the book cage and looked into it. "Hey, Oz. Just you and me tonight. Mind if I do some meditating? What was that? 'Go right ahead, Xander?' Thanks, Oz, don't mind if I do." He looked around. Ah. The table.  
  
He was busy meditating when it happened. To be more accurate he was balancing upside down on one hand while levitating the heaviest books he could find in the library, along with two chairs, around him, absorbed deeply in the force. Then he felt it, a tiny whisper in his mind. He was so startled that he almost lost control for a second but then he imposed some mental discipline with a frown and lowered everything carefully to the ground. Only then did he get down and walk over to stare into the book cage.  
  
Were-Oz was asleep, his jaws snapping slightly as he chased something – or someone – in his dreams, his hair sticking out all over the place. And he seemed to be using – or trying to use – the force. There was a soft noise from above the werewolf and the window catch came free with a jerk and hung free.  
  
Xander gazed at it. The sleeping werewolf had apparently used the force to open the window. Okay, this was strange. He reached out with his hand and used the force to resecure it again. Then he sat down, crossed his legs and stared into the book cage to study the werewolf. He was fast asleep. What was he dreaming? What had he done to access the force? So far he hadn't met anyone else who could use the force, but... there had been that odd feeling that he had always sensed about Oz, which he had never been able to classify. He had always put it down to the fact that, well, the guy was a werewolf, but what if that had only been part of it?  
  
He fully embraced the force and then looked at Oz. The werewolf was still making little running movements with his feet. Then his ears went up and he stopped dead. With a whine and a jerk he was suddenly awake, looking at Xander with those yellow eyes of his, almost unmoving and unblinking.  
  
Using the force to summon a book over to him Xander held it in the air, making it rotate slowly as he watched the hairy figure intently. Oz tilted his head to one side and whined softly as he watched the book, but the feeling that Xander had detected earlier did not return. He put the book down and Oz, yawning hugely, growled softly and put his head back down before flipping back over with his back to the Jedi, obviously intent on getting some more sleep.  
  
Standing back up again Xander looked at the shelves. Right. Time to do some research. And keep one ear, so to speak, tilted towards the book cage.  
  
------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Hot strong coffee was a good way to start the day. Especially when you'd been up for a second night in a row. A short burst of the Jedi healing trance had allowed him to keep the worst of it away, but he was still tired. Books were piled all over the desk, spilling onto the chairs and from there to the floor. Books with titles like "The Werewolf – a study of Lycanthropes", "Baying at the moon with my brother", "The fight against myself" and his personal favourite, "Three nights a month without trousers". You had to love that title.  
  
He stood up and moved his neck around before walking over to the book cage. "Hey," he called, "You awake?"  
  
A groan answered him, and then a human Oz blearily peered around a shelf.  
  
"There's some coffee on, Oz. Get up, we need to talk."  
  
Oz stared at him a moment and then made scrabbling noises as he hunted around for his clothes while Xander, for the sake of decency, turned his back on him.  
  
"Did I do anything last night?" the werewolf asked, his voice muffled as he rammed his t-shirt over his head whilst hopping into his jeans.  
  
Xander grimaced. "Yes and no. Before you say anything else, you stayed in the book cage."  
  
"That's good," said Oz as he pulled his shirt on.  
  
Looking over his shoulder Xander walked over and unlocked the door. "Yeah, but, well, there's a problem."  
  
Frowning Oz walked out and then double-taked at the mound of books on the table. "Interesting," he muttered, raising an eyebrow and strolling over to look at the titles written on the spines. "Why the research? What happened?"  
  
Pausing a second Xander walked over to the desk and sat down. "Oz, what do you remember when you're the wolf?"  
  
The werewolf's face tightened ever so slightly. "Nothing, sometimes. Other times... vague memories, like dreams you try and remember. Jumbled images. Xander, what happened?"  
  
"Last night you opened the window. Thing is, you didn't touch it."  
  
There was a pause. "If I didn't touch it, how could the wolfy version of me open it?"  
  
Xander wagged a finger at him, caught himself, opened his mouth, closed it again and then finally said: "Oz you used the force. Which prompted the reading."  
  
The pause that followed was quite a long one. "Okay," said Oz after a while. "That was unexpected. Frightening as well, but mainly unexpected."  
  
He stood up and paced, something that was very un-Ozlike. Then he looked up. "Tell me you're sure."  
  
"I'm sure."  
  
"Okay." He paced a bit more. Then he sat down again. "I am now officially freaked."  
  
Summoning the force to him Xander stood up and levitated a book or five. "Oz, can you feel anything? Is anything, well, letting off little force- related bells and whistles?"  
  
The other man stared at the slowly revolving book and shook his head slowly. "Nothing." Then he tilted his head. "Hairs on the back of neck stood on end. That mean anything?"  
  
"I don't really know," replied Xander and let the books fall back onto the desk gently. "This is a baffling situation."  
  
"What is?" asked Giles as he came through the door and took in the scene. "Ah, is everything alright?" Then he saw the mound of books. "Oh dear. Did anything happen last night? Oz, you didn't get out, did you?"  
  
Xander and Oz exchanged a long look and then the werewolf shook his head.  
  
"Ah, good," said Giles and wandered over to pour himself a mug of coffee from the carafe on the desk.  
  
"No, he didn't get out," drawled Xander, "But, and this is the surprising thing, he did use the force in his werewolf state."  
  
It was rather unfortunate that Giles was swallowing a mouthful of coffee at that moment, as most of it went all over the floor and just missed a valuable copy of Humptemper's "How to kill insects," volume I.  
  
Choking slightly and applying his handkerchief to the spots on his tie, he looked up. "He did what?"  
  
"He used the force, Giles."  
  
The Watcher slumped back into a seat. "Right," he said after a while. "What a bloody week. A new Slayer in town, followed by an insanely vicious ancient vampire, the only vampire with a soul in the world falls through a dimensional portal on to our laps and goes feral on us and finally I'm told that there's a werewolf in town that can use the force. Just bloody marvellous. What next, a plague of zombies? Oh wait, that was last week." He threw his glasses onto the surface of the desk with a clatter and glared at Xander. "Any more surprises?"  
  
The Jedi mulled things over. "Nope. Oh, but I think that one of the students isn't quite human. Again."  
  
------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Arriving in the office was always exciting. So much to do. So much to arrange. Gosh, he enjoyed the mornings. So many people ignored theirs or wasted them. But no, he loved them. Especially when he thought about what lay ahead. Smiling quietly he looked down at his inbox. A large envelope was there, buried about halfway down and he carefully tugged it out. Aha. From Wolfram & Hart. Of course, the Arrangement was up for renegotiation this year. It was a shame that it wouldn't mean a damn thing next year, but that was life. He had to be very careful now.  
  
He had to give the impression that life would continue as normal next year, that all the agreements and deals he'd made over the years would remain intact. The truth would be very different, but if he gave out the wrong signals then, well, someone might go poking under the surface. Placing the envelope on his desk he broadened the smile. Maybe this time Wolfram & Hart would send a decent lawyer. The last one had been, well... quite a disappointment. Too chewy for a start. 


	16. Enter Complications

Apologies for the delay in getting this out. I write for a magazine where the production schedule is currently manic and over the past two weeks sleep has been a big priority for me. That plus I was all written out, being unable to even use words like corrugated and marmalade, to use an old Welsh joke of my mother's. This is the prelude to something I've been planning for a while. I hope I can pull it off. In the meantime, enjoy. Cymru Am Byth!

* * *

The piece of music wasn't terribly complex, but it needed a certain panache in the delivery. Hum, Oz thought, how do I play this? His hand sketched the first three chords, slowly at first and then again at a faster pace. Right. His other hand came down and he softly strummed the guitar before playing the piece through. Then he frowned and looked back at the score. Damn, that penultimate chord had been off. He ran through it again. This time he got it right, but he felt no happier about it. Sighing he strummed rather aimlessly and then quirked a smile at one of the notes. Sounded like the start of 'Love To Be Loved', he thought and paused, his hand poised over the strings again.

After a noiseless moment he reached up and, pulling the strap over his shoulder, put the guitar down before leaning back in his chair and staring out of the window. This was not an easy decision to make. He'd become a Scooby because Willow was one and he wanted to be with her. That had meant some fairly radical revisions in his view of the world. Admittedly he'd already had a crash course in the impossible, starting with the fact that he was a werewolf. Bit of a surprise that.

And now, it seemed, he could access the force. That was substantially more than just a surprise. Shock was the right word. Doubled by the fact that his werewolf side had used it. That was a nasty one.

Xander had formally offered to teach him the ways of the force. Ordinarily he would have thought hard and long about it and perhaps... well, maybe even turned the Jedi down. Xander had rather gone through the mill of secrecy about the whole thing and seemed to have made it his mission in life. That was cool, he knew where he was going. Oz hadn't done much forward planning in his life so far, other than when it came to Willow, the Dingoes and future college participation.

But the werewolf access to the force changed the paradigm. Changed everything. Admittedly the hairy side of him had only used it to open a window and hadn't choked anyone to death or persuaded them that these weren't the 'droids they were looking for. But if Xander hadn't been watching out that night, he might have escaped. Might have hurt someone. Might have killed someone.

That was the deep dark fear at the back of his head, the fear that he never let show. There was a killer in him, he knew, and he had to keep that side of himself caged. Literally. Three nights a month behind bars. And he would never forgive himself if he ever hurt someone when he wasn't in control of himself. Especially Willow.

Xander was doing some more study into the nature of werewolves, with the assistance of Giles, and had some ideas about the possibility of using meditation to keep the werewolf at bay at the right time, based on the writings of some Tibetan monks. That would be cool. Study of the force also meant study of meditation and he might be able to find a way to perhaps use the force to suppress the wolf. If he could...

Too many variables, he thought bitterly, too many unknowns. Damn it, as life wasn't complicated enough. He looked up and winced slightly as he saw the moon. It was waxing, as he had heard Giles call it, on the way to being full. Another week and it was lock up time again. What if he had a way out? It would take time, he knew. A lot of training as well. But... well, as his mother said, if you don't try you don't get. He had to try at least. Standing up he walked over to the window and firmly pulled the curtains together. He still had some time to think about it, Xander hadn't been too insistent on him agreeing to the training. But he had to make up his mind soon.

* * *

It was dark in the grotto, with the only light, faint as it was, coming from a trio of red candles placed around a skull in the centre of a complicated tracing of blood that looked like a pentagram with some very odd additional elements that would have given a human a headache just looking at it. Other bits seemed to pulse in and out of sight on a moment-by-moment basis. It looked, in short, thoroughly unpleasant. The skill looked even more unpleasant, all bone ridges, with a massive forehead that left the eye sockets deep in shadow, with a line carved in the bone to one side of one socket.

A mirror image of the skull, although one still living, faced it. The red-skinned face looked down at the skull and then snapped back up to stare at the air above the candles, where something was coalescing slowly out of the smoke. The demon shaman smiled briefly and then started to chant in a slow voice that combined determination and menace. The image in the smoke jerked abruptly and then focused slightly, leading the demon to nod. Then he turned to look at his companions. "Very soon now," he said. "We know soon."

"Good," said the leading figure, which was wearing a black robe that failed to cover his bony protrusions. One red hand balled into a fist. "We know, we kill."

There was a rumbling noise to one side and another demon stepped forward. "What about promise to her?"

Something that sounded like a cross between a snarl and a growl emerged from the leading figure. "Not care," he said. "We kill who killed Karvor then we do job. Not before. Not care about her and witches in San Francisco. Vengeance first."

The other demons in the room nodded in sequence. "Vengeance first," they echoed.

The shaman turned back to the skull and spoke in a sonorous voice, reciting a series of harsh words that made the symbols around the skull pulse faster and faster until a small ball of black light pulsed out of the skull and hung in the air. Another word from the shaman and it jumped upwards into the shapeless thing that was hanging in the air over the skull. There was a sharp crack and the thing collapsed in on itself to form an image of a dark-haired man with a set expression, holding a sword up.

"Remember him," said the leading demon. "We kill human who kill my brother. Kill him slowly."

* * *

Life could be good sometimes. She had redeemed her earlier mistakes – slight though they had been – with an inspired performance at the Hoskins trial. She had got the guilty son of a bitch off with not even a fine, not even a line of censure. She smiled as she looked out of the window. Maybe she was starting to catch up with Lindsey. That lousy little Texan was still Holland Manners' blue-eyed boy, but he hadn't been the person to turn the Hoskins account around. Nope, she had put the hours in and talked to the right witnesses and generally delivered.

Rumour had it that she would be the one to go to Sunnydale to re-negotiate the Arrangement with Wilkins. She hoped so. That would be the icing on the cake, the proof that she had overtaken Lindsey.

Walking over to the refrigerator in one corner of her office she pulled out a glass and added a few lumps of ice. Then she extracted the bottle of Smirnoff Vodka that she only ever brought out when she was feeling like celebrating and splashed a certain amount into the glass. Returning to her desk she stared out of the window at the darkening sky. Progress was nice.

The phone rang and she picked up the receiver.

"Lilah," purred the voice at the other end before she'd even been able to say a word. It was Holland. How had he known that she was there? "Working late I see. Very commendable. I understand that you were able to sign your guests from last month up for a little freelance work for us."

Lilah thought furiously. Aha. "The Sankregs," she said, "Yes, I put the San Francisco assignment to them. They agree to get the book from the witches there."

"Interesting choice of personnel," said Holland.

No it wasn't, though Lilah, it took me ages to get that blood out of my shirt and when that large one wrenched their own brother's charred head off his corpse and started sniffing it I almost hurled. I hope that all get what they deserve while my real thief gets the job done right. "I thought it appropriate."

"Well, we'll see. By the way, I heard from a contact of mine this afternoon. He saw your... associates leaving town."

From the way he said that last part she could tell that he was emphasising something, but she couldn't tell what. In the end she simply said: "Okay."

"The thing is, Lilah, they were heading southeast, and according to any atlas San Francisco is northwest of here. I wonder if they're being very subtle or if, well, you failed to emphasise the urgency of the matter." He drew the word 'urgency' out ever so slightly, something which other people would have underlined in metaphorical red ink, along with much screaming.

Her mind raced and she bit back several choice words. Oh that did it. No more red skinned cretins. Endangered species? She'd finish the job that the Crusaders started.

"I made it very clear," she said. Time to come clean. "And to make sure I initiated a back-up plan to acquire the book." She spoke for several minutes, outlining the great coup that she'd been hoping to unveil with a flourish.

When she finished speaking there was a brief silence on the other end of the phone. A drop of sweat oozed down her face. Then Holland broke the silence. "Very commendable," he purred. "Good to have a back-up plan. Not the most reliable of demons, but adequate. By the way, report to my office tomorrow morning."

Her heart raced. The negotiations for the Arrangement with Wilkins? Then he said: "The Arnold account seems to have come unravelled again. I'd like you on the case. See you at 9am sharp."

She heard the dial tone over a heart that seemed to have stopped dead, turned to lead and then dived somewhere south of her knees. The Arnold account. The longest-running piece of litigation that Wolfram & Hart had on its books. So complicated that legend had it that you needed a miner's helmet and a pickaxe to find the bottom of the file. Legend also had it that the filing system was now so complex that an intern sent to pick up some case notes from the depository had never made it out alive. Old Tom Murray had had to be sedated after a week of working on it. He'd walked into a meeting stark naked, sat on his chair and answered every question with an 'ook' noise, while putting a banana in his coffee and sketching out an incredibly efficient new filing system for the firm's library. He was now the librarian, even though he now slept in a basket in his office and occasionally forgot his clothes.

Draining the vodka down to the last drop she slumped in her chair and glared out of the window. It was all so unfair! Damn it!

* * *

The car weaved to a halt and then stood there. It was not in good shape. At some point it had been driven either at or through a hedge and there were twigs and leaves scuffed into the bumper. The driver didn't get out straight away - he seemed to be having some trouble with the door handle. Finally he succeeded in the basic act of turning and pulling at the same time and leant against the door, which flew open and deposited him on the ground, where he lay giggling softly. Pulling himself upright he finally stood up and looked down at the lights of the town beneath the bluff where the car was parked.

There was another moment of brief confusion about if he should smoke the bottle of whiskey or drink the cigarette before he returned his gaze to the lights. Somewhere down there was the key he needed to getting Dru back. Somewhere living in those somewhat blurry lights. He shook his head and stared. For a moment there seemed to be rather too many lights. Then he grinned viciously. "I'm home," said Spike. "Home, home of the Slayer... and witch girl, and weirdness and stuffy Brits and ponces with hair gel."

Taking another swig of whiskey he scratched his chest thoughtfully. He was hungry. Time for a bite to eat.

* * *

Okay, this is odd," quipped Xander as he locked the book vault and then sat down with his legs crossed. "But then this is Sunnydale and we passed odd years ago and went straight on to insane. You okay with this?"

Sitting on the other side of the wire mesh Oz nodded. "I know what you mean. I'm almost cool with it now though."

"Almost?"

"Give me time. How do we do this then?"

Xander took a deep breath before looking at Oz. Fortunately the werewolf had some experience of meditation. This, however, was something else. Although he was confident that he could handle the wolf version of Oz, the werewolf had insisted on being locked up during any training over the full moon period. Although he hadn't used the force since the previous month when he had shocked Xander so much, the Jedi Knight had focused in on the werewolf's aura. The force was there alright; the more he looked the more he could see it. The question was, could Oz?

"Close your eyes and focus on meditation," he said softly. "Just drift. When your mind is still, go deep. Put everything to one side."

"Are you going to tell me to stretch out with my feelings?" asked Oz, a faint smile on his face.

"That too," he replied.

They sat there for ten minutes as Oz slipped into a meditative state, listening to Xander's voice as he spoke in a low monotone. Then the Jedi slowly pulled a penny out of his pocket. It was just wide enough to pass through the metal mesh of the cage easily. Balancing it on the tip of his thumb he used the force to propel it through the door, aiming it to pass over Oz's head. It never made it. With lightning speed the werewolf reached up and snatched it out of the air with his eyes closed.

Oz blinked at the penny in disbelief. "How..." he started and then stopped before trying again. "What... happened there? It was like I could feel it – almost see it, just for a second. He looked up at Xander, who was grinning. "That was the force?"

Nodding, the Jedi leant back on his haunches. "Yes it was. A small glimpse. You've got it, Oz, you really have."

The werewolf looked confused and pleased at the same time. "Is this the point where you tell me that I've my first step in a larger universe."

Xander groaned. "Will you stop quoting 'A New Hope' at me? Well, actually yes you have. We need to see how far it'll go. And Oz?"

"Yeah?"

"Look up at the window."

The werewolf did so. To his shock he could see the full moon hanging in the night sky. He looked away hurriedly but he could feel the wolf starting to stir in him. "Damn, I hate this," he muttered.

"Oz, it rose ten minutes ago. I think you can hold it back with the force."

Sweat was running down the werewolf's face now as the change took hold. "Try again tomorrwow nighttt?"

Xander stared at the face of his friend as it finished changing and then started snarling. "Tomorrow night, Padawan. A short step, but a step all the same." He looked up at the door seconds before Willow walked in. "Cool. Willow can I have a word before I join the Slayage Sisters? I think Wolf Boy here shows promise."

* * *

The Host staggered back through the door and slammed it. Pausing for a moment to gather his strength he weaved his way over to his desk and sat down very heavily. Opening the drawer to one side he picked out a bottle and squinted muzzily at it. Something yellow. Okay, fair enough. He pulled out a shot glass, poured a measure out with a shaking hand and sank it with one gulp.

"Holy Hanna," he muttered. "The first time was bad enough, but you'd think I'd be ready for the second." He glared at the bottle. It didn't seem to be having much of an effect, so he gulped down a second shot, telling it mentally to go and find the first one, give it a good talking to and then get to work.

After a while his gaze drifted back to the drawer and he pulled out another bottle, which he inspected from a distance of two inches. Something blue. Oh, what the hell. He poured out a measure from it and sent it down his throat with orders to find the first two, blend into a more harmonious green colour that hopefully colour-coordinated with his skin and restore some equilibrium to his frazzled nerves.

There was a quiet knock on the door and Vern the barman poked his head around the door, opening his mouth to say something. The Host sat bolt upright, groaned, almost knocked over the pair of bottles with one expansive gesture and then finally said: "I just want to know one thing – gone or not gone?"

"Gone," said a bemused Vern. "And Frankie Four-Fingers is asking for credit again."

The Host shuddered violently again. The only future he could see ahead for the normally New-York based mobster was a quick death in London at the hands of some mad, almost indestructible, Russian called Boris. Something about a huge diamond and a boxing match. "Tell him only if his 'Uncle' stumps up the cash."

Dismissing Vern he subsided back into his chair and firmly capped the bottles on his desk. Right. Back to work. He sat there for a moment longer. Perhaps a quick nap first.

* * *

Fighting vampires could be very therapeutic, thought Buffy. After a day at school being sniped at by Snyder, followed by pesky homework and then a trip to see how Angel was doing as he attempted to rebuild himself following his hell-dimension existence, and she had a great deal of frustration to work out.

She frowned slightly as she ducked under a wildly flailing fist and then kicked with some precision. The vampire, who relied on blunt strength and had just no idea of fighting style at all, screamed loudly and fell over, clutching his shattered kneecap, making him far too easy to stake. Sensing a movement behind her she wheeled and dodged the oncoming vampire, catching him a glancing blow that sent him into the trunk of a tree.

"Xander, are you going to help at all? And why is it I never see you in the same place as Snyder? How do you avoid the man with no good side?"

Perched on a branch above her, the Jedi shrugged. "Come on Buffy, it's not like you need help with this lot. Where'd they come from, Incompetents Anonymous? Besides, you look like you need to blow off some steam." He grinned. "As for Snyder I can tell where that little weasel is with the force. Makes it easy to avoid him, unless I'm trapped in class that is. He puts out a nasty signal in the force."

Off to one side there was a sighing scream and Faith walked out from behind a tomb, dusting herself down with the hand that wasn't clutching Aquila. Looking up she smiled at the sight of the now terminally enraged vampire picking himself off the ground by the tree and rubbing at the cut over his forehead. "Nice balance on this thing. Here ya go, B" she called and tossed the sword over.

The vampire skidded to a halt as he saw Buffy wield the sword in what she knew looked like a highly professional manner, with the fangfaces rage giving way to an understandable desire not to get dusted.

"Are you all finished playing?" she asked in a bright voice. "Because if you are, then can we finish this so I can go home? My Mom makes me nachos after a big evening with the Slayage."

The vampire swiveled his eyes from side to side, taking in the approaching Faith while uneasily catching sight of Xander, who was now standing on the branch and displaying a great deal of balance control.

"Maybe another time, Slayer," he said with a weak display of menace and then turned and ran for it. Unfortunately he didn't get very far. Buffy reached into her jacket to extract Mr Pointy, which thudded into the fleeing vampire's chest with an impressive accuracy. "Wow," she said, impressed despite herself. Then: "Xander, did you help with that?"

"Nope, that was all Slayer," replied Xander and then leapt off the branch, tucked into a roll and landed next to her. "The vamps seem to be a little lacklustre tonight," he added in a musing voice.

"Yeah, well," drawled Faith with a lazy smile, "With us on the case, who can blame 'em, right B?"

She smiled at the brunette Slayer. She liked Faith, although Xander seemed to be a bit worried about the way that she Slayed. It was good Slaying, no question about that, with much gusto thrown in, if gusto was the word she wanted, but she had to admit that sometimes Xander had a point – Faith enjoyed it a little too much. Not that that was a bad thing, but you had to be efficient sometimes, especially when you were facing large numbers of the undead.

She opened her mouth to ask if anyone wanted to come back to her place and have some nachos, when she suddenly realised that there was a Xander-shaped hole by her side. Turning, the two Slayers looked back. The Jedi was standing in the middle of the road, absolutely still, his gaze off to one side. He looked very serious.

She was about to ask him what was wrong when he raised one hand and gestured for them to get away. "Buffy, Faith, get out of here. We have company."

Her hackles rising slightly she frowned. "What's out there? Come on Xander, we can handle anything!"

"Not this," he replied, unclipping his lightsabre and holding in his right hand. "These things are too nasty."

Something was emerging from the pooled shadows at one end of the road. Several things. More than several, there were six of them. Whatever they were, they were tall, massively built and red, with spiny bone protrusions here and there. As one of them passed a mailbox it sent it flying across the road with one casual swipe of a clawed hand. She exchanged glances with Faith. These things definitely looked nasty.

"Buffy," repeated Xander, "Faith, get out of here. I've fought one of these things before. They are incredibly tough. Go!"

"No way, Xan-Man," said Faith, with grim cheerfulness. "You stand, we stand. Might be nice to know why though."

The leading skanky red demon thing must have been listening to them, because it stopped in front of them and pointed a spiky thing at Xander.

"He kill brother," it rumbled in a deep voice. "Kill Karvor in desert. No respect to body. No respect to clan. We find, we kill. For honour."

Emitting what sounded like a sigh of resignation Xander shook his head wearily before looking up at the thing. "Your brother was trying to kill me and he also had a hostage. He was looking for a holy book. I was there, we battled, he lost. I am sorry for your brother, but he left me no choice."

"We have no choice now," came the reply. "Vengeance is all."

"Vengeance is all," chorused the others as started to spread out and around the trio, flexing muscles and making unpleasant cracking noises as they clenched their fists.

"Xander, did you kill the big red thing's brother?" asked Buffy as she pulled Aquila out.

"Yes, and please for the love of God run, you two. Their skin is like some kind of armour, my sword just bounced off it in the desert."

"Then how'dya kill him?"

"Went for the eyes with a chain, he flinched back, I got him in the eye with the sword."

"Nice, said Faith and then pulled out her stake. "You'll do," she said to the nearest Sankreg demon and then threw it with amazing speed. The stake disappeared under the craggy demon's forehead into the brain. There was a shocked pause and then the demon slumped onto its back, extremely dead.

"That was nice too," said Xander, assuming the second advanced defensive posture, "But Faith?"

"Yeah, Xan-Man?"

"You just disarmed yourself."

She paused and then looked up at the nearest demon. "Ah nuts. What the hell."

Things got complicated then. The demons turned their gaze from their fallen comrade to the three humans and sent up a howl that made the hairs on the back of Xander's neck stand on end before attacking. Xander ducked under one spine-tipped fist and shouted: "Watch out, those spines and damn sharp," before igniting his lightsabre and spinning on the spot to face Karvor's brother.

"Silly light stick not hurt me," rumbled the demon with contempt. "Me old, me hard to kill."

"You know what?" he replied. "Karvor said the same thing. Right before he died. Back off, you'll die otherwise."

The demon snorted again and lunged. Sighing, Xander dodged the blow and pulled the lightsabre up and around. There was a blink of noise from the demon and then he fell apart into two equal halves. "I warned you," he said to the corpse and then looked around. Buffy was facing two Sankregs, Faith another while the last one was staring in disbelief at the neatly bisected body.

"I'm a Jedi," he said to it and the demon looked up and stared at him. Then it bellowed something unintelligible at him and charged towards him, flailing with those sharp tipped fists. He dodged them and snuck a glance back at the others. Buffy had somehow managed to take out one of her opponents, but in the process she'd lost Aquila, which seemed to be wedged in the skull of her fallen foe. She was also bleeding from a cut above the eye and her jacket looked like it had been attacked by a knife-wielding moth. She ducked under one fist, rolled away to the corpse, reached out and Aquila came free with a truly horrible wrenching sound. In his humble opinion she'd win this one.

Faith so far seemed to be dodging and diving a lot while looking very frustrated. This was bad. Then it happened: she lost her temper. "Stand still you bastard!" she screamed and took the fight to the demon. Her first kick didn't even stagger the Sankreg, neither did her second. Then she reached out and punched it full in the face.

Xander flinched at the sound of the bones in her hand breaking; it was a sickening crunch of a noise that was all the louder for echoing off the massive skull. Faith looked down at the odd angles that her fingers were sticking at and had just opened her mouth to scream in pain when the Sankreg hit her with the back of its hand and sent her flying through the air to land in a bush.

The Jedi Knight swore under his breath and turned back to his opponent, whose attacks he had dodged easily. Okay, time to end this fast. The demon's fist came down again for another blow and suddenly wasn't there any more; neither was his entire arm. The demon stared at the cauterised wound from the lightsabre and then suddenly his headless body was collapsing.

Xander span, hurtled over the bodies and cut the legs out from under Buffy's opponent, causing him to fall to the ground. "Hey," said the Slayer, finishing off the demon with crunching stab to the head, "I had everything under control there!" Then she looked around. "Faith!"

The last Sankreg stepped up to the brunette Slayer as she lay on the ground clutching in agony at her shattered hand. "I eat your flesh," it gloated and raised a massive fist.

"Take a number, lover boy," she ground out through clenched teeth, her good hand flailing at the bush for a branch to use a weapon. The red fist came up... and then stopped. Faith stared up at the blue beam that had suddenly appeared in the middle of the demon's forehead. Then it vanished and the Sankreg fell to the ground with a thump that shook the earth, revealing Xander. The Jedi Knight deactivated his lightsabre with a sigh and stepped over the body. "You alright?"

"Yeah, well, my hand could use some looking at," she replied. Then she stopped and looked at him. "Thanks, Xander. I owe you one."

He grinned and looked down at her hand.

"Nasty," said Buffy as she came up quickly, wincing at the sight.

"You're a sight yourself, B," said Faith with a smile. "Hey, Mr Jedi, can you, you know, use the force on this?"

Xander winced as he looked at it. Bones should definitely not look like that. "Uh, Faith, if I start to heal that before the bones are properly aligned again, nothing's going to work properly. You need to get to a hospital right now to get your hand set. Then I start to heal it."

"Oh," she said. She glanced at her attacker and for a moment a look of fear and anger swept over her features. "Makes sense, I guess. Buffy, I think I'm gonna need nachos after this."

"Mom will be proud of the noble cause that her nachos have died for," Buffy said as she helped her friend up. "Come on, let's get you fixed up."

Something else flashed over Faith's face as the two led her away. It was a complicated expression that combined gratitude, sadness, pain, fulfillment and longing.

* * *

Standing in the shadows to one side Spike swallowed almost nervously as he watched the trio walk off. Then he took a long swallow of vodka. Okay. This was bloody terrible. One Slayer was bad enough, two was a disaster. And Harris... how the hell had he rediscovered his Jedi skills? And a lightsabre? How the bloody hell had he managed to build one? He'd killed four Sankregs. Five if you included the brother that one of them had been twittering on about. Spike had met a few Sankreg demons in his time. Bad-tempered, almost indestructible buggers.

Okay, he thought, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Plan A is buggered – kidnapping either the witch or the Watcher was a fast way to certain death. Plan B had promise. He'd find Dru, torture her mercilessly and hope that she forgave him. Turning he staggered slightly and then frowned. Where had he parked the car again?

* * *

It was a nice day. The sun was shining, his Padawan was progressing and Snyder was on the other side of the building. Life was good, thought Xander as he walked around the corner of the school and looked at the main entrance.

Jedi's didn't go for rumours, but Willow had been quite the little gossip monkey earlier on. Apparently Tom McAndrews, the captain of the football team, the current love of Cordelia Chase's life, had made the biggest blunder on the face of the planet. During a tender moment the previous night he had blurted out the wrong name at the wrong time. Hurricane Cordelia was now busy laying waste to the vicinity. The name? Buffy. Oh crap.

Xander shook his head ruefully as he caught sight of The Queen of Mean up ahead with her acolytes. From their posture she was still laying waste to the general area.

Then he frowned. Something was off with one of them. One of them... just did not feel right. Not evil, that sense was easy to sense in the force, but... hard. Tarnished at the same time. Cloudy, as if something was being concealed.

Looking to one side he saw Buffy approach. "Hey, Buff. Don't go near Cordy today, the bitch level coming off her will kill small birds and mammals in the area." He scratched the back of his head. It felt as if a small thunderstorm was brewing over Cordy's head. Something felt off.

"Xander, do you have an odd feeling today? You're looking all scratchy," said the Slayer.

"Yeah," he said absently, "Something feels..." Then it hit him like a landslide, as if a veil had been jerked to one side. Something was wrong, more than wrong, very, very badly wrong.

"Damn," he said, spinning and lunging up the stairs.

"Xander?" came a baffled wail from Buffy behind him, "What's wrong?"

He didn't reply, he just ran up the stairs, using the force to swerve through the crowd, up to Cordelia. As he drew level he heard her say: "I wish that Buffy Summers had never come to Sunnydale!"

And a voice that sounded too deep and dark, attached to a face that was not human, replied: "Done!"

The world went dark.


	17. Alternate Sunnydale Part One

Okay, this thing just grew and grew. Originally I was going to post the entire thing, but once this thing passed the 12,000 word point then once again reality snuck back in and hit me on the back of the head with a rolled-up newspaper. I've also been nominated for three categories at the White Knight Fanfiction awards and I'd like to say thank you to everyone who nominated me as well as everyone who has sent in a review so far. Here is the latest episode. Hope you enjoy! Oh and thanks to BunnyButler for pointing out the typo in the last chapter. Oops.

* * *

Cordelia blinked hard. Okay, that was too freaky for words. One minute she'd been surrounded by the Cordettes, along with that new girl, Anya, who had a very cool taste in clothes but a rather less cool demony face. The next minute she was alone. Turning, she looked around. Yup, still alone. On the whole, Sunnydale was starting to freak her out. It hadn't been so bad before she'd found out about the stupid Hellmouth thing.

Then she frowned and walked over to the tree by the side of the entrance. Something was on it. She blinked and stared. Okay this was even freakier than some of the other things. Someone had stuck a skeleton to the trunk. Or rather nailed it, she could see by the corroded metal protruding from the chest of the extremely dead thing. It wasn't in the best of shapes. For a start, one of its hands along with a chunk of arm was missing. It also seemed to be rather vampiry. The teeth seemed to be a bit large and nasty and its forehead was all ridgy. This was odd. Vampires, in her limited experience, tended to go very dusty when sunlight hit them. Only one vampire had left a skeleton that she knew of, and that had been the Master. But he was dead. Actually dead and then pounded to bits by Buffy.

"Miss Chase!" said a voice to one side that seemed to ooze pompous outrage. She looked to one side and jumped what felt like two feet in the air in shock. Principal Flutie was standing next to her, clutching a clipboard and radiating vague irritation. Wasn't he dead? He was certainly looking at her in an odd manner. "Miss Chase, lessons started ten minutes ago! Unless you want a demerit for lateness you'd better go at once. And step away from that..." A combination of loathing and horror coloured his voice. "That thing. You should know better to go anywhere near it."

Still staring at him as if he was something too freaky for words Cordelia walked inside the school. Something was very, very wrong here. Flutie was alive, he seemed to know about vampires and lessons had mysteriously jumped back fifteen minutes in time. It must have had something to do with that Anya person. She hurried on to her history class.

By the time that lunch break came, she was even more confused. People seemed to be missing. No Willow, Buffy, Xander, Oz or Harmony. Lessons seemed to be rather subdued. Hell, people seemed to be downright morose at times. And the Cordettes weren't there either. When she entered the library to talk to Giles he wasn't there either. Instead there was some brunette who told her that Mr Giles had been called away on business and that he'd be back later that afternoon.

The afternoon didn't get any better. Computer sciences had been cancelled as the unnamed teacher had also been called away. French seemed to consist of a lot of stupid translating of Jules Verne and History was all about the equally stupid Romans and the squabbling of two generals with the dumb names of Marius and Sulla. Mrs Pollock had done a lot of eyebrow raising in an attempt to make some kind of point, but she had no idea what that point was.

By end of the school day Giles still hadn't returned and she wandered out of the school looking bewildered. It was rather too quiet. There was almost no traffic. People looked... well, rather hunted. She wandered into the Bronze, gaped at the lack of activity and wandered out again. Then she paused. It might make sense to back to the library again, in case Giles had returned. If she went home then the chances were that Mom was complaining about the fact that she wasn't allowed to fly to Paris at the drop of a hat and Dad was on the phone to his accountant again and complaining about the IRS's sudden interest in his business. Okay, the library it was.

She turned and had started off down the street when she heard something off to one side. The next thing she knew someone had wrapped his arms around her and was pulling her into an alleyway. A year ago she would have just screamed. Now she screamed, raked her heels painfully down her attacker's legs and was fumbling in her purse for either her can of Mace or a stake, depending on the threat.

Something crunched in her assailant's leg and he lurched violently, allowing her to break out of his grip. Great, she was in an alleyway that led to a dead end. Pulling both the Mace and the stake out, she whirled to confront him. Then she pulled a face. Okay, he was a vampire. He was also the thinnest vampire she had ever seen, practically skeletal and shaking on his feet, his cold yellow eyes burning as he rubbed his lower leg. Something was sticking out of his ankle and she realised with a shock that it was a piece of bone.

He looked up at her. "Drain you dry," he said in a low mumble. "All that hot blood, I can smell it. All of it..."

Cordelia rolled her eyes. "Oh come on, you couldn't drain a soda right now! I get jumped by a vampire that's falling to pieces? Get real and get out of my way, lowlife. I happen to know the Slayer. Actually, both of them."

The vampire tilted his shaking head and looked at her. "Slayer... slayer's a long way away. Both? Both... No. One Slayer, always has been. No. Hungry now." He pulled himself into a more upright position, obviously getting ready to jump on her when there was a noise like a high-pitched crack and something red flashed into his back. The vampire convulsed, screaming, and suddenly there was fire running along his back from where the red bolt had slammed into his spine. The flames spread like a hungry forest fire and suddenly he was gone, dissolved into a cloud of fiery dust.

Cordelia blinked. Then she looked back to the entrance to the alleyway, where a figure was standing and starting to pull some kind of gun down from an aiming position. "Oz!" she shouted in relief. "Wow that was good timing! Where the hell have you guys been all day?"

Oz looked confused. "I'm sorry, have we met? I saw you facing the vampire off and thought that I'd lend a hand. We don't see many of their kind around these days."

Confused she looked down at the rapidly eroding pile of dust. "I thought vampires liked the Hellmouth. What do you mean 'we don't see many of their kind around'? And what do you mean 'have we met'? Come on, Oz, have you been partying too hard with the Dingoes again?"

His face grew even more confused. "The Dingoes broke up last year. Um, do I know you?"

"Oz, it's me, Cordy. Did you bang your head again when you were wolfboy? 'Cause if you did, you sure are acting all wiggy. And what's with the odd gun? What is that thing?"

Looking down at the gun – a black device with odd things sticking out at angles that looked strangely familiar – Oz glanced back up at her. "Wolfboy? How do you know... I don't know who you are, um... Cordy." He paused. "Hang on a second, didn't you once date Devon last year?"

She rolled her eyes yet again. "Yeah, for all of about two seconds. Damn it, Oz, stop creeping me out with all this crap!"

He shook his head again. "I'm sorry, but I don't know you."

This was too much and she finally lost her temper. "Oz, goddamnit, stop that! We've known each other for more than a year! You know me through the Slayer, much as I want to wish otherwise, the Slayer part, not the you part. You date Willow, and why am I still putting up with this? I need to get to the library and talk to Giles. Something majorly weird is going on here today!"

Flinching slightly from this tirade Oz stiffened slightly. "Willow Rosenberg? And do you mean Rupert Giles?"

"What other Giles do we know?" she snapped.

Oz looked to one side, obviously considering something. Then he beckoned. "Come on. He should be back at the library by now." Then he made off at a determined trot, tucking the odd gun into a sling that Cordelia could see hanging around his neck and which could be tucked neatly out of sight under his coat.

Running after him she drew level and then glared at him. "Oz, what is going on? Where's Willow, and Xander? And Buffy?"

It took a second before she realised that he had stopped dead in his tracks and was staring at her. "What?" she asked.

"You know..." He paused and then spat out: "Xander Harris?"

"Well yeah. Former geek, thinks he's funny, got all serious once he got possessed by Obi-Wan Kenobi last Halloween and turned into a Jedi and... what?" she asked, seeing him stare at her in total disbelief. Then he seemed to gather his wits and walk on.

"We need to see Giles," he said tersely. "I don't know who this Buffy is, but Willow Rosenberg's dead and Harris... well, he wasn't possessed by Kenobi last year. Come on!"

* * *

Riley Finn ducked down behind a stanchion and then risked a quick look to his front. Two on the left, one on the right. He fired two blaster bolts straight down the corridor at the lights, plunging part of it into darkness and then fired three more to the right. By the screams he had got both of them as they tried to take advantage of the darkness. Then he fired another three bolts to the right and ran for it. By the thumping sound behind him he'd just killed another human being. One more for the butcher's bill. He turned a corner, checked his six and kept running. Not far to go now. Turning another corner he caught sight of Forrest, Graham and the guy they'd worked so hard to get out. He was still lolling unconscious, but at least Forrest was busy opening the emergency exit in the roof whilst Graham assembling a sling from some spare rope that he had scavenged from somewhere.

"Okay, we've got company," he said. "Not him, just guards. I'll hold them off. Make for the rendezvous and we'll all meet up at the library. Go, get him out of here! There's too much at stake!"

Forrest paused and then nodded sharply. The steel door creaked as it opened, slowly at first and then faster. "Let's do it," he called down to Graham, who was busy arranging the sling around the comatose man's arms. "See you on the flip side, Riley."

He grinned in response and sketched a salute. Then he span and took aim down the corridor. This wasn't quite last stand time, but it was close. He could hear running feet echoing along the corridors. That was good. Walking feet was bad. That meant him. Tucking the butt of the blaster tighter to his shoulder in reflex he waited. Time. That was what they needed. Time and the expertise of Rupert Giles. He started to fire into the swirling smoke.

* * *

Giles sighed with pleasure as he picked up his mug of tea and then took a slow sip. After a long and frankly rather frustrating day chasing down a possible (and eventually non-existent) lead about what was going on, tea and a piece of shortbread were definitely called for. Then Jenny walked out of the office holding her own mug of herbal brew and he reconsidered that. Actually a glass of wine each and a romantic Italian meal were called for, but you couldn't have everything. She perched herself on the table next to him and grinned at him.

"You really do need a new car, Giles," she teased.

He snorted. "I'll have you know that my car is a classic."

"Does that mean an antique?"

"Hardly." He looked up at the clock. "I wonder if they've made it into the complex yet..."

She hit him lightly on the shoulder. "Stop that! You can't be everywhere. I know that the whole Watcher ethos runs deep, but you need to step back and be the valiant commander."

Sighing deeply he removed his glasses, polished them absent-mindedly and looked up at her fondly. There really were times when he was astonished to find her still there with him. Most other women would have given up years before.

There was a confused noise outside the doors to the library and they both tensed slightly before relaxing again as the three figures stumbled through the entrance clutching their impedimenta. Warren was complaining about the need to upgrade the laptop again, while Andrew was busy talking at nineteen to the dozen about how important it was to get hold of Lucas's original notes for the saga and if an explanation for the Sith could be gleaned from the novels. It sounded as if they had been talking for some time to the third person and they both rambled to a halt at about the same instant, allowing Jonathan to smile slightly. "Once they started talking on the way here I couldn't shut them up. Sorry Giles. I think it's some kind of defence mechanism."

"Is not!" snapped Andrew and then looked embarrassed.

"Hey, pardon me if someone has to set some priorities around here," muttered Warren and then looked back at the laptop. "This thing is so last year, I mean Rebel Alliance Headquarters deserves better," he whined, but still went about plugging it in. Then he looked up at the clock. "They should be in by now, right? Any word?"

"None," sighed Giles. "You'll know the moment we get any news. Thank you again, all of you. I know that if they're successful then life is going to get, well, more than a little complicated, but thanks."

"No problem," said Jonathan, putting down the books he was carrying. "Is Hoth base ready?"

Giles winced. "Jonathan, I wish you would stop calling it that. Yes, it is."

There was another sound at the doors and everyone looked up, tensing slightly again. Then Oz walked through – followed by an extremely confused looking Cordelia Chase. A frowning Giles stood up. This was not a case of good timing at all. If the others arrived when she was around...

But just as he was about to open his mouth and ask as delicately as possible what the girl was doing there, he saw that she had gone white as a sheet and seemed to be on the verge of fainting. Holding up a violently trembling finger to point at Jenny she blurted: "First... first Flutie and now you? You died... you died last year..."

Giles flashed a quick glance at a stunned Jenny and then looked back at Cordelia. If anything she looked even paler and he hurried over to usher her gently into a chair. This was easy as she seemed to be operating on automatic pilot, although her head seemed to be fixated by Jenny and she almost twisted her head right around in an effort to walk and stare at the same time. Checking her pulse carefully and laying his hand on her forehead he looked up. "Mild shock. We need some hot sweet tea." As Jenny, obviously relieved to get out of the way, went into the office, he looked back at Oz. "What happened to her?"

"You know her, then?" asked the werewolf, looking at her quizzedly.

"Yes, she's a student here. Keeps asking for the 'big books that tell you how to get a passing grade in stuff.'" He looked down at her as well. He'd always suspected that the cheerleader had hidden depths. They were very well hidden, but they were there.

"Vamp almost got her by the Bronze. On its last legs. She was fighting back, you know how brittle they get when they're starving to death. I got it, she saw me and greeted me like she knew me. That's when things got weird. Giles, she keeps referring to people who aren't there any more. Mentioned Willow Rosenberg and-" his face darkened. "Him. Plus someone called Buffy. Claimed we were all friends. She also said that Harris went to Halloween as Obi-Wan Kenobi."

"Would that we were that lucky," muttered Giles, staring at the pale girl with great interest. "Why would she say that?"

Jenny returned with a mug of hot milky tea and put it into Cordelia's hands. The girl took a slow sip and then stared at Jenny again, a bit like someone who was totally unsure about their present sanity. "You're dead," she whispered again. "Angelus killed you."

At that name Giles whirled on her, staring. "Angelus?" he snapped, drawing a 'don't freak her out' look from Jenny. "What do you know about Angelus?" The Scourge of Europe might be in the side of the angels at the moment, but that didn't mean that Giles feared that one day something nasty might happen to tip him over back to the Dark Side. He had seen that happen right before his eyes with Harris and it scared him more than he cared to admit.

"He killed her..." said Cordelia in a low voice. "Last year. When he lost his soul after he... was with Buffy. In a bedroom kind of way."

Warren sidled up to Giles. "Okay, has she gone a bit, you know, fruit loops?" he asked, circling the side of his forehead with one forefinger. "Because it sure sounds like it and - Ow!" Cordelia had kicked him hard on the side of the leg and was gazing up at him with wobbly determination.

"I have not gone fruit loops!" she barked. "Everything's gone nuts since this morning and that girl with the demony face, but I'm... I'm... okay. I think." She subsided back into her uncertain state, directed another terrified look at Jenny and started to sip her tea again.

"Actually Warren, after two and a half years on a Hellmouth I have long since learnt to ignore Occam's Razor," said Giles.

"Okay. No idea what that is."

"Occam's Razor, it's a rule of logic," called Jonathan from the table. "Means don't make up complicated explanations when a simple one will do."

"Yes," said Giles, "And on the Hellmouth it means bugger all." Blowing out a breath he grabbed a chair and sat down again. Some kind of alarm bell was going off in the back of his head and it was something that he had learnt not to ignore at all. "You, you mentioned Buffy. Not a name I'm familiar with I'm afraid."

She directed an incredulous gaze at him. "As if!" she said forcibly. "Giles, earth to Giles, Buffy? The Slayer? You know, short, blond, attractive to men, the scumbags, slays things with Mr Pointy?"

"Mr... Pointy?"

"Stakes, Giles. She kills vampires with stakes."

He had a nasty crawling sensation, like a small army of ants was trying to take his scalp off with tiny tin openers. "Oh my God, you mean Buffy Summers? The, the current Slayer?"

Cordelia's cry of 'Duh!' was followed by Jenny's muttered: "Rupert, do you know who she's talking about?"

A corner of the floor caught his gaze for a second and he took off his glasses at the same time. Then he polished them briefly. "You might say that. I was supposed to be her new Watcher, after her old one died. She was coming here and the Watcher's Council had me moved into place beforehand. But then her parents had some form of reconciliation and they moved to Cleveland. It was all most unexpected. My contract with the school board meant that I couldn't leave so soon after joining and..." He looked at Jenny, smiled and squeezed her hand. "Things happened here," he said softly. "They, they assigned a new Watcher and as far as I know she's still in the Hellmouth on Cleveland."

"She came here two and a half years ago!" exploded Cordelia. "Come on, she was off somewhere to one side when I was talking to that new girl, Anya!"

The doors made their customary warning noise for a third time and a dark-haired man in a red shirt walked in clutching a bag. "Do you know, Ripper, how hard it is to make three Stones of Healing in one day? Bloody knackered me." He put the bag on the counter and looked over at the group. "Found another stray to take in under your wing?" he asked in a voice that combined sarcasm and cautious curiosity.

"Actually, Ethan," he replied, leaning back and replacing his glasses, "I'm not sure what we have. She seems to remember different things from us. Different events. Like the current Slayer, Buffy Summers, being in town for the past two years and Harris taking on Obi-Wan Kenobi's costume last Halloween."

Ethan Rayne went pale with anger. "Don't even joke about that, Ripper. Not tonight."

"I'm not. Joking, that is. Something very odd is going on."

"That or she's nuts," said Warren from the safety of the other side of the table.

"Apparently I'm dead," said Jenny with a raised eyebrow.

A snort was emitted from Ethan. "Hardly."

"Let's, let's get back to this morning," admonished Giles as he turned back to Cordelia. To his surprise she was glaring at Ethan. "You're Ethan Rayne?" She asked in a hard voice.

Wincing slightly, Ethan nodded.

She waved a finger in his general direction. "I lost a great cat outfit from Partytown because of you and your chaos magic last Halloween, bucko. Some dog-faced loser turned into a dog because of you and it was only thanks to Obi-Wan Harris that I got out of there intact. And I remember the whole Mark of Eggonface fiasco."

There was a clattering noise as Ethan almost dropped the three healing stones he was carrying, juggled them briefly and finally placed them onto the counter. Then he turned and stared at her. "I don't remember you being there for any of that," he said in a disbelieving tone. "Obi-Wan Harris? Darth Harris, you mean."

"No, Obi-Wan, all blue lightsabre and calm voice and throwing threatening things into bushes," said Cordelia, with real desperation in her voice now.

"Miss Chase," said Giles in a low and he hoped very serious voice, "Xander Harris went trick-or-treating that night in a Darth Vader costume."

She turned a pair of very wide and terrified eyes on him. "No," she said with even more desperation in her voice, "Xander's a geek, I know, but he didn't, wouldn't dress up like that. Not on the Hellmouth. Not him. He went as Obi-Wan! He was a Jedi!"

"He went as Vader," replied Ethan in a hollow tone. "I sold him Vader's costume. At a knock-down price." The silence that filled the room was many-layered. Ethan smouldered, Oz, Giles and Jenny looked grim, even the techno-geeks looked sombre. Cordelia looked utterly horrified.

"He didn't know then. About the Hellmouth, I mean," said Giles quietly.

Cordelia was very pale again now. "He's known about the Hellmouth since the Harvest. When Buffy stopped the Master. Saved us all."

A harsh laugh broke out of Ethan Rayne. "Oh the Master was stopped alright. But by Harris a year later, not but anyone called Buffy, whoever she is. He beat the Master to a pulp, cut off his lower arm and then nailed him to a tree outside facing east just before dawn."

"That was the skeleton outside?" asked Cordelia, making a face. "So that's good, right? He kills vampires?"

"Oh," said Oz in a low tone, "He went through the vampire population like a devouring wind. The one who jumped you was one of the few survivors. Not many of them left and those that survived are mostly starving to death. He kills vampires, sure. Thing is he also kills people. Anyone gets in his way..." He made a slashing motion with one finger across his neck. Then he turned away abruptly.

"Xander?" Cordelia asked in a disbelieving whisper. Seeing the others nod she looked away, her eyes very wide. "I can't believe this. This is... mad."

"Welcome to Sunnydale," said Ethan with a haunted smile. "Nightmares aplenty."

"So, so, he's a murderer?" she asked after a while.

Giles scratched his forehead. "Ah... where to start? Yes and no. Yes, he has killed people, and no, no-one's put him on trial for murder. He's... too powerful. He has allies of the most dangerous sort. And he's a Sith. Plus he's in charge of the town. It all makes for a rather... unpleasant set of circumstances." He paused. "Can I just backtrack a little? You said you were with someone called Anya... who had a 'demony' face. That, um, sounds a rather ominous development. Demons have taken to visiting the Cleveland or Berlin Hellmouths, not Sunnydale as Darth Harris, to, to give him his full title, tends to sense them and drive them out or kill them."

Looking a little less lost now that she had something to concentrate on, Cordelia nodded. "Yeah, I met my friends outside the school today and we were talking, and this girl Anya, she's new, she has really cool taste in clothes, and like I said we were talking and then just after she leant me her necklace... her face went all demony. These lines like this down her face," she pulled her fingers over her own features to illustrate, "And then she said in this big demony voice 'Done' and then everything just nuts."

There was a startled noise and everyone looked around to see Ethan as he did some gaping of his own. Then he swallowed hard and looked over at Giles. "Rupert," he said in a cold yet small voice. "Where do you keep your demonology books in these Sith-infested days?"

"Um, back of the office, next to the books on what to do if you get caught in a gnu stampede."

He vanished for a moment, before returning with a large and rather battered leather-bound book. Placing it on the table he flicked through it, muttering under his breath. Then he found the page he was looking for and thumped the book in front of a startled Cordelia. "Was she like that? Did she look like that?" he demanded insistently.

Giles moved over to glance at the entry. The ants started their demolition work on his scalp again. The entry was headed "Vengeance Demons, First Class (D'Hoffryn Variant)" and had a picture of a female demon with the kind of features that Cordelia had mentioned.

Looking as if she had swallowed a time bomb the girl nodded numbly. "Just like that," she said, pulling a face. "That's her."

"Anyanaka," bit off Ethan with a snarl. "Very powerful vengeance demon. One of D'Hoffryn's mob. Very nasty. Ripper, we have a problem. Anyanaka is powerful enough to have caused a major shift, a real butterfly effect phenomenon." Spinning he fixed Cordelia Chase with what appeared to be a one million volt gaze and barked: "Did you wish for anything? Anything at all?"

She pulled a face but couldn't break that terrible gaze. "No, well, yes, I might have... stupid boyfriend said her name last night instead of mine at the right moment and I might have said that I wished that Buffy Summers had never come to Sunnydale..." Her voice wound down like a broken record.

Ethan looked as if he was about to explode.

* * *

The first figure in the van was bored. Deeply, deeply bored. He hated stakeouts. Been there, done that, got the t-shirt and the matching baseball hat. He looked at the dregs of coffee in the plastic cup and shuddered. There was only one person in the world who could possibly even considering drinking that and he was on the other side of the building. Pursing his lips he thought about whistling, changed his mind and settled over onto his other elbow. Two nights now and nada. Zip. Sod all, as an SAS colleague had once said. His companion was admirably still, her face splashed with green light from the monitor. Nothing was happening on that either. That was a shock. Not. He made a mental note to ask about that odd shape on the tree next to the entrance. It looked, by some trick of the light, like a skeleton. Nah. As if.

If he had been on his own he could have utilised his favourite tricks to amuse himself, like naming his pencil, counting his nose and balancing on one leg and pointing north. But she might have thought such tactics, well, a little odd. He let out a silent sigh. Bored. Backwards that was derob. That sounded different. He felt very derob. Derob, derob, derob.

Something moved out of the corner of his eye and he turned sharply in his seat to see it better. Someone was sneaking down the side of the building, keeping well into the shadows. Every now and then he paused to check his six. He was good, he was very good indeed. Just the right mix of caution and speed. He was also armed with something and seemed to be wearing body armour.

"I see him, sir," said the second figure and he nodded at the screen.

"Cautious man, expecting trouble. And in a hurry. Interesting combination." He reached out and picked up a small tactical radio. "We have company," he said into it.

There was a pause and then a voice replied: "One or Two?"

"Two."

"You want us back there?"

"Negative. No guarantee he'll leave the way he came." He paused and looked at the screen. "Okay, he's in the school now. Looks like our anonymous informant was right about that much. Hang tight, report in if you see anything." There was a double click of static in response and he nodded at his companion. "Now we wait."

* * *

He looked at the piece of machinery with cold eyes and then made a careful adjustment. There was a beep and a flicker inside and he closed the access hatch carefully. Good. A few hours of charging and he'd have a new remote to practice against.

There was a soft knock to one side and a pale man walked in. Fear was radiating away from him, he could feel it with the force. Probably more bad news. "Report."

"Your pardon, my Lord, but the prisoner in Cell Three has escaped. Morgan and Schwartzkopf arrived with faked movement orders and then knocked the guards out when they said that they were going to contact you. They removed the prisoner and then fled through the access corridors where it seems that they met up with Finn, who covered their escape through an access hatch. Several guards were killed in the escape."

He sighed. Another screw-up. He needed people who would stay 100% loyal and who were also competent. Well, another few weeks and he'd have more than enough reliable guards. Everything was ready.

Looking back at the messenger, he almost smiled as he saw a flinch on the man's face. Fear had its uses. He never killed for no reason, but when he did, it was to prove a point. Mainly that he would not tolerate incompetence. He also should have had Schwartzkopf and Morgan taken into custody months before for questioning, given their closeness to that softhearted fool Finn.

"Tell Walsh to send the Hunters to find the prisoner. You may go," he said and watched the messenger scurry out, damp with relief. No, this world had a great deal of potential, once he had some reliable soldiers with him. Once he'd hunted down the softhearted elements, imposed his own order on the world and moulded it to... a better standard.

And then after that... to the stars. And more challenges. Earth was in a war, he knew. And he would win it his way. The way of the Sith. The way of the Empire.

* * *

"I don't believe it," said Ethan again, his voice rising with anger. "We're stuck here in this hell of a world maybe because this... stupid... brat... made a wish? To a vengeance demon? One of D'Hoffryn's mob as well?" He was angry, as angry as Giles had seen him for almost thirty years. Angry enough to do something stupid. He looked at Jenny out of the corner of his eye and saw her nod imperceptibly and ready herself in case she had to knock him out.

"Ethan..." he started, but the Chaos mage was on a roll now.

"We have an unholy variant on Darth Vader running about the place, in cahoots with a military organisation that has God knows what kind of plans for conquering the planet and doesn't care much about killing people who get in their way and it's all because of some..." Words failed him at that point, his face growing redder and redder and various veins starting to pulse in his forehead. He could smell the magic coming off his reluctant ally – Jenny was pale by now, the three techno-geeks were close to hiding under the table and the girl looked as if she was about to faint. Only Oz looked unperturbed.

Drawing a deep breath he barked out: "ETHAN!" They traded glares, the air sizzling between them. "Get a grip, man. Control yourself. We need to find out how such a wish could lead to so drastic a change."

The glaring competition went on for a moment longer and then Ethan broke off to stomp into a corner. Slumping into a seat as far away from the girl as he could get he pulled out a packed of fags and stuck one in his mouth. Then he reached out with his finger, glared at it until a spiral of red flame shot out from its tip, lit the fag and sat there, breathing heavily and emitting puffs of smoke like an angry volcano. After a moment he remembered to put his finger out.

Sighing and getting a sympathetic wince from Jenny, Giles turned back to Cordelia Chase. "Right, then. We need to find out, as I said, how such a chain of circumstances could come from one event. The Slayer in your... reality for want of a better word, made it to Sunnydale. What did she do then?"

Cordelia was less pale now but was still shaking. "She stopped the Harvest. She killed some vessel guy who was acting for another vamp called The Master. Everyone thought it was some gang on PCP or something, so did I at first until someone explained it all to me." There was a startled moment of reaction in the room.

"Ah," he said, putting his glasses down. Then: "Go on."

"Well, she stopped some witch on the cheerleading squad – but that was you I think as well – some puppet was hunting a demon during the school play, she got him as well, the demon not the puppet, he was a good guy, she saved me from some invisible bitch who wanted to carve my face off like Hannibal Lector, she killed The Master, who killed her for like sixty seconds but she came back to life so there are two Slayers now, she saved me from some geeks who wanted to cut my head off and stick it on a zombie for the wedding from hell, she saved a bunch of people from a loony vamp called Spike, she found out that half the swim team was being turned into fish monsters, she boffed her boyfriend Angel and turned him into Angelus, who... who..."

"Killed me, you said," breathed Jenny, prompting Giles to squeeze her hand again.

"Yeah, that... then she stuck some big knife in him just as he got his soul back thanks to Willow to close some big sucky thing demon called A Cat of La, or something, and then she skipped town for a while, while Xander was training to be a Jedi Knight. Um, she came back, Angel fell through a dimensional thingy from hell woofing like a dog, he killed a guy who was all veiny and horrible and... and they made up. "

"Quite a list," said Ethan from his corner. "I still don't understand how this led to Harris being Vader though. You said that he went as Alec Guinness in your world. Okay, Obi-Wan Kenobi."

Cordelia shrugged helplessly and Giles sighed. "Well, it seems that the absence of Buffy Summers must have had some effect. The last report I had from the Watcher's Council about her said that she and her parents had moved into Cleveland quite well."

"Hold it – her parents?" Asked Cordelia, her voice rising in surprise. "Buffy's parents are divorced. They broke up in LA. Her Mom runs the Gallery here."

"And, and her father?"

"Worked someplace in LA. I don't know, what am I the Summers Family's social secretary? I don't know what her father Hank does. Did. Whatever."

There was a choking noise from the corner of the room and everyone turned to see a coughing Ethan Rayne. "What was her father's name again?" he wheezed.

"Hank Summers."

"Iesu Grist," he coughed. "So that's what he meant..."

Keeping hold of his temper as best he could, Giles looked at the Chaos Mage. "Who meant what, Ethan?"

Stubbing out his fag as best he could the Englishman stood up and hurried down the table. "I had a choice of two sets of costumes last Halloween, Ripper. One was big the other was smaller. A lot smaller. No contest, really, I went for the bigger one. Orb of seduction and Kate Moss's telephone number and instant result."

"Euw!" said Jenny and Cordelia together, echoed by a chorus of "Cool!" from the three techno-geeks, who then had the grace to look guilty.

"Yes, but the chap who arranged the shipment told me that if his old boss had been around, there was no chance on God's green earth that I could have pulled it off. The big shipment was due to go to a large shop near Malibu, he said, the best thing he could have got me was the smaller lot of costumes."

Giles sat there very still. Then he asked the question. "Did, did he say who his old boss had been?"

"He said his name was Hank Summers. Said that the man was too honest for his own good, but that he had had a last-minute reconciliation with his wife and had left for Cleveland with his family." Ethan stared at Cordelia in horror. "The big shipment had the Vader costume, Rupert. The smaller one had a lightsabre from Star Wars. The one that Guinness used to play Kenobi." His hands came up to cover his face. "Oh my God," he whispered. "Twice damned."

Walking over Giles reached out with one hand and gripped his old friend's shoulder. "You couldn't have known, Ethan. There was no way that you could possibly have known."

Ethan shuddered and stood up roughly, red-eyed. "Not much consolation, Ripper. Not much at all." He looked around. "I'd better check on those healing stones," he muttered and stalked off into the office.

Giles winced and was turning back to look at Cordelia when he glimpsed a shadow on the main doors. And then Riley Finn slumped through them, looking as if he was on the point of exhaustion. "Good God, Riley," he exclaimed, rising to his feet and helping the young man to a seat. "You look all in, man. Where are the others? Did you succeed?"

The soldier grinned tiredly and nodded. "We got him." Then he frowned. "Aren't they back yet? They got out while I held the guards off. They should be back by now."

A blanket was draped around his shoulders and a glass of water pushed into his hand. Looking up they both saw Jenny. "Don't worry, Angel and the others can take care of themselves," she said quietly. "Did you find out anything else?"

He nodded again and then paused to drink half the water greedily. "Something Forrest told me in case he didn't make it. We know what they're building in room 190. Something called some Spaarti cylinders. Don't know what that means though. Neither did Forrest."

This time the choking noises came from the other end of the table. Warren was making puffing noises, Andrew seemed to have fainted and Jonathan was white and trembling. Then the latter said: "Uh, guys? We might have a problem here. Well, actually more than one problem. A cloning problem."

* * *

The first figure was about to start naming all fifty states in reverse alphabetical order, something he only did when really trying to fight off sleep, when he saw the van creep around the corner and then glide to a halt in front of the doors. A figure with rather gelled up hair jumped out of the drivers seat, checked the neighbourhood quickly but efficiently and then banged the side of the vehicle. A second later two other figures jumped out of the doors in the back, turned and carefully dragged a limp fourth figure from the depths of the van. Staggering slightly they supported the limp figure between them and then moved quickly inside, while the driver looked around and checked their six, holding another odd-looking gun, before he too joined them inside.

The face of their unconscious guest stood out on the green screen quite well. "Well, lookie, lookie," said the first figure. "Harry, you look terrible." Then he reached for the radio. "Party's complete," he said into it, "One just turned up, looking the worse for wear I might add. Let's do it people, in and out with them both. We've got questions we need as to ask them."

"Okay,"" came the response, "We're moving – argh!" A confused noise came from the radio. The first figure sighed and looked at his companion, who raised both blonde eyebrows as she placed her helmet on her head and fastened the strap. After a few seconds a new voice came on the air. "Daniel Jackson appears to have fallen over an ornamental rose bush, O'Neill. I am assisting him. We are moving into the rear of the building."

"Figures," Jack O'Neill sighed. He tightened his own chinstrap. "Let's do this."

* * *

"Spaarti Cylinders are cloning machines... at least that's what it says in the guides," said Jonathan in hollow voice. "They're what was used by the Republic in the Clone Wars. Not that we know why. Lucas was going to make it clear in the first three films. Which he, uh, never made."

"On account of being dead," added Andrew.

"Did Forrest add anything else?" questioned Giles grimly. The former Initiative operative shook his head tiredly and then stared at Cordelia.

"Who the hell is she?"

"That's, ah, rather hard to explain. We may have another front to fight on, or at least another option to explore." He put a hand on Riley's shoulder. "Well done. Ah." Looking up he watched the doors wobble yet again. "This might be them."

A moment later the doors swung open to reveal Forrest and Graham half-dragging, half-supporting a black-clad figure between them, followed by Angel clutching a blaster. The vampire with a soul nodded tiredly to Giles and Riley. "We got him," he said. "Had a flat tyre on Fairfax, slowed us down. Sorry we're late."

Wincing Giles looked at the unconscious man. He looked as if someone – he could guess who – had used the man for a punching bag for a week. "Ethan!" he called and the morose chaos mage walked out of the office and stared.

"Get him in here," Ethan ordered quietly, "I've got some things I can use to heal him quickly."

"Magic?" asked Forrest dubiously as they went into the office.

"Good magic," Giles heard Ethan's wry reply and smiled. After a moment the two Initiative operatives – make that former Initiative operatives now – came out looking rather astonished. Then they walked over to Riley and slapped his shoulders simultaneously, grinning.

"Guys," said Riley, returning the slaps, "Meet Rebel Leader." He gestured at Giles and the two men stiffened to attention.

"At ease," he said softly. "We meet at last. Thank you for your assistance. And thank you for your trust. We need to hear your reports now, as I don't think we have very much time at the moment. Depending on Colonel Maybourne's knowledge we may have to evacuate this base of operations to a secondary facility to plan an assault. Although we had a suspicion that Harris was about to try something, we had no idea what it would be. And frankly the time to watch is over and the time to act is now."

"Sir, if they suspect that we've come here..." warned Forrest, but Giles nodded.

"That's also why we have planned an evacuation. But the most important thing we need you to do is mark out on Riley's map of the base any areas that Harris might have added, and where he plans to install these, these Spaarti Cylinders."

"I only know about the ones in Room 190, which are already installed. Graham here heard that there were more being built soon, but we don't know where or when. The secure part of the Initiative is only open to people of command facility rank or technicians first class. We're – or we were – neither. And I don't know what they do. All I know is that they sure were built in a hurry. Anyone made a mistake – crrkkk," he said, making nasty noise and tilting his head.

"Right," said Giles. "Jonathan? We need an explanation here now."

The short teenager walked over. "Um, well, in a nutshell a Spaarti Cylinder is mentioned in a number of books and notes as being... Giles why is there a red dot on your forehead?"

Riley snapped his head around and then froze. So did the others. Two figures, one male, one female, both dressed in black and with black Kevlar helmets, were at the entrance, training light machine guns with laser sights at them. Two other figures were at the stairs at the back, one apparently unarmed but massively built, with a US Army-style cap jammed low on his forehead. His companion was holding a pistol. His eyes were watering a great deal but he never took his eyes off the group.

The leader at the door – he certainly seemed to be in charge – made a short sharp motion with the tip of his machine gun. "Put the weapons down on the floor and step away from them NOW."

Moving very slowly and keeping their hands in view at all times the initiative trio, Angel and Oz put their blasters down and stepped away from them. "Ordinary MPGs," hissed Forrest to Riley who blinked in response.

"Hey!" said the man in the black helmet, "Did I say you could talk? Step away." He gestured to the huge man who darted forwards to gather up their weapons. He paused to stare at them and then rumbled "O'Neill. These are no ordinary firearms. They appear to be of alien manufacture."

"Nuts," muttered the man called O'Neill. "Freaking typical. You, Finn." Riley's heed jerked up at that. "Where's Maybourne? And where's the other guy we saw enter the building?"

Very carefully Riley pointed at the office. He had a look on his face that Giles had come to associate with their poker matches. It hinted that he had Aces over Kings.

Fortunately O'Neill, whoever he was, had never played poker with them. Gesturing for them all to move away towards the table he then waggled an eyebrow at the huge guy who removed a pistol with looked like massive distaste from a holster and moved towards the office.

He never made it. Three things happened almost at once. Suddenly Ethan was at the doorway. He made a strange gesture and shouted "Infernas!" loudly. All four intruders promptly yelled at different volumes and dropped their suddenly red-hot guns, although the one called O'Neill made a valiant effort at keeping hold of his. They all gaped at Ethan who smiled sardonically at them before waving a hand almost negligently to send them flying across the room to slam into the wall with enough force to knock them all out.

"Bloody yank pongo amateurs," the chaos mage muttered as the others scrambled to pick up their blasters and collect the intruder's guns.

"Graham, Forrest, check them out for more weapons," ordered Giles, his eyes fixed on the black-clad figures. The way that the big one and O'Neill were moving slightly and moaning softly they wouldn't be unconscious for long. "Riley, Angel, Oz, cover them." He turned to Ethan. "Thank you."

He received a shrug in response. "Never send Special Forces to do a mage's work." Then he frowned. "They were carrying ordinary guns, not blasters though. So they can't be from the Initiative."

"Not quite," called Forrest, walking over with two odd-looking devices. They resembled the coiled head of a cobra and were not familiar at all. There was some form of firing stud at the front of what appeared to be a handle on each of them. "Never seen these before. Not standard issue of any kind I've seen. Riley?" He held one out to the young Lieutenant who took it with a furrowed brow.

"Not standard issue." He stared at the quartet. "Odd tattoo on that guy's head as well. The big African-American."

Giles looked over. "Good grief. That's the mark of the Egyptian serpent god Apophis. Now, why would someone have that tattooed in gold on their forehead?"

"Giles," said Jenny in a rather strained voice, "Something is odd with that guy. He feels, well, disconnected from the earth. Not part of it. I'm not being very clear about this, am I?"

He looked at her. Jenny had developed her sixth sense over the years to the point where occasionally it scared them both. If she said that something was wrong... He muttered a short incantation and a globe of green light formed in the palm of his outstretched hand. Then he gestured and it divided into four parts, before shooting across the room to bind the hands of their new captives. "Better to be safe than sorry. Right, worry about them later. Jonathan? What exactly are Spaarti Cylinders?"

* * *

Ow, thought Jack, damn that hurts. His back and his heads both felt as if, well, he'd been thrown against a wall. Which he had. What a surprise, didn't that happen most missions?

As his head cleared he noticed three things. The first was that he was slumped in a more-or-less sitting position. The second was that his arms were bound. That came a massive non-surprise. The third was that he could hear a rumble of conversation off to one side. Opening his eyes he blinked and barely suppressed a groan of pain. Argh, light headache = worse headache. He waited until the little purple lights stopped flashing and then opened the eyes a crack. A blur was pointing a gun at him. Again, this came as no surprise.

Opening his eyes all the way he blinked again. A high school student was pointing one of those weird guns at him, or rather just above at his general position, which scarcely much of an improvement. "They're awake, Giles, or at least one of them is," the kid said, not taking his eyes off him for a moment. Okay, he looked like a kid – senior or maybe college – and he dressed like a kid – t-shirt, shirt, jeans, and sneakers. But his eyes... they were too old to belong a teenager. They looked like they had seen far too much. They were also far too still and intent. Something about them really creeped him out.

Looking to one side he groaned as he saw the rest of his team. Carter and Daniel were in bye-bye land, although Teal'c was definitely conscious but possibly waiting for junior to repair something. He had hit the wall hardest of them all. Then he looked down and this time he couldn't prevent a startled yelp leaving his mouth. His hands were bound together with some green glowy ring stuff. It felt faintly warm and looked like some form of energy. It also felt impossible to break.

Hearing footsteps he looked up. The guy with the glasses – Giles – was standing in front of him, looking very grave. Finn was next to him, with the other two NID grunts flanking the pair. The dark-haired woman was off to one side but was watching him, as well as the gelled-up man. The guy who could do the Goa'uld stuff, albeit without a hand device, and the three geeks were clustered around a computer talking about something called a Sporty cylinder, whatever that was.

Okay, he thought, time to test if chuckles here is a Snake. "You are a completely useless jelly-spined excuse for a Goa'uld," he smirked in fluent Snake, "Who couldn't overthrow the lowest system lord without a complete arrogance transplant and three million Jaffas. In fact, just give up and join the Tok'ra. A Nox could beat you up." There. It was a bit weak, but the best that he could come up with given the fact that Teal'c, he suspected, kept the best anti-Goa'uld insults to himself. If this Giles character there – or any of the others – was a Snake, then it should enrage them enough to want to stamp him into a small greasy patch. Which would both provide proof and possibly an opportunity to jump the man if he moved between the gun and his victim.

Instead the man frowned. "Fascinating," he said, "Sounds like an appalling corruption of Ancient Egyptian and some other unknown language. I take it you were telling me to do something anatomically impossible to myself?"

Jack paused. "No," he said. Okay, not Snakes. Or at least not reacting like Snakes.

The guy took his glasses off and started to polish them. "Can I ask what you are doing here? Given your, your primitive weapons you're from the US military but not based in Sunnydale, am I right?"

He stared woodenly ahead, not saying a word. The Giles guy smiled quietly. "Cat got your tongue?" There was an element of unspoken menace in his voice. The dark-haired man in the red shirt smirked at the tone, muttered something that sounded like 'Ripper' and then walked off back in to the room where Maybourne had to be.

Jack continued his world-famous impression of a block of wood and the man sighed. "Very laudable, I'm sure, but I must insist on an answer. Do you work for the Initiative? Leftenant Finn here says no, but I'd rather be safe than sorry."

More silence. Giles dropped onto his haunches - just out of lunge range, damn it! - and stared straight into Jack's eyes. He gave the impression of being a very hard man. "What are you here for?" he asked softly.

Nothing. He sighed and straightened up. "Jenny, can I have some of your truth potion?" The woman nodded sombrely and walked over to the table where she produced a small phial. Great, thought Jack, just great. More freaking truth serum. Although who the hell called it truth potion?

"Don't bother," said a weak but amused voice to one side, "Jack O'Neill is one of the most stubborn sons of bitches it's been my misfortune to know in life. If he feels like not talking, he won't." Harry Maybourne was standing at the doorway, swaying slightly, with the red-shirted guy standing behind him. He still looked as if he had been run over, but frankly now he looked a hell of a lot better than before. He was also holding a glowing silver stone to his chest. Every now and then he winced.

"Rupert Giles?" he asked after a moment and then limped forwards to shake the man's hand. "Thanks for getting me out of there. It wasn't pleasant."

"I can imagine," said the Limey. "We understood from Riley here that it was tonight or never. And frankly we need some answers quite desperately."

Maybourne nodded and then winced again. "Can I have a chair?" he asked. "This... magic thing... is impressive, but when my ribs knit up it's a bit painful." The red and bloodied line across his face seemed to be a lot lighter and then, to Jack's astonishment, it shrank to a thin line and then a white mark and then vanished completely.

"Of course," said Giles, bustling around and in a moment the NID Colonel was sinking gratefully into a chair.

"How long do I have to keep this thing next to me?" he asked once had had caught his breath.

"Another half an hour at least," replied red shirt.

Nodding Maybourne jerked a finger at SG1. "Don't worry about them, they don't work for Harris, or the NID. I know them, they're from the US Air Force. The NID regards them as the biggest spanners in the works ever. I know that I do. We can trust them, Mr Giles. In fact we might need them." He looked back at Giles. "We don't have much time. His plan is, well, not good news for the rest of us. Forrest tell you about the cylinders?"

Giles nodded and one the geeks at the table stood up. He was a rather awkward, weedy little guy, but he looked almost fiercely determined. "Spaarti Cylinders, Colonel. Cloning cylinders. Can we ask how many of them he's built?" asked the geek.

Pulling a face Maybourne replied: "About 250 in Room 190. But from what I saw of the conversions they were making in the secure part of the base, they have room for another 500 in Room 210 and 300 more in Room 214. He was talking about a flash-teaching setup for personality imprinting and technical training. And a start to finish timeline of 20 days per clone."

Jack frowned. Okay, he had no idea what the hell that was all about, but it hit the others in the room like a sock full of wet sand behind the right ear. Much gaping. Hearing an odd noise to his left he looked over to see a cross-eyed Carter shaking her head. Daniel was also awake.

"Whoa. Ow. Did someone say clone?" Carter mumbled muzzily. Jack opened his mouth, considered her present condition, closed his mouth again and then looked back at the others. One of the geeks appeared to be in shock and all the others looked very shaken. Over some gibberish from Maybourne?

"Okay, what the hell is going on?" he asked testily. "Harry?"

"Not now, Jack. Harris has big plans, Mr Giles. I heard mention of converting another two rooms to cloning facilities, total coming to about maybe 2,500. How the hell he'd hide everyone while building up his forces, I have no idea."

"Good God," muttered the Limey quietly. "If, if he staggered the cylinders so that some clones were being created whilst others were being completed... it would be a constant supply of clones. At least one and a half thousand every 20 days.... All loyal to him, all armed by him..." He looked up with death in his eyes. "Goodbye America. Goodbye World. Hail the New Order, so to speak." Turning with lightning speed he looked over at the others. "We evacuate to our back-up facility now. Riley, Forrest, Graham, secure the exits. Angel, Jenny, Ethan, get the magical supplies. Warren, Andrew, Jonathan, get your things together, along with all the research facilities you need. We may not be coming back here for a while. Cordelia... please just sit there. Move, everyone."

Jack was impressed. The only person he'd ever heard snap out orders with as much authority was Hammond. He'd almost clicked his heels and run after Finn, except that he was still bound and lying on the floor. Speaking of which.

"Ah, Harry? For the second time, what the _hell_ is going on? We came here to investigate your disappearance, and the fact that a very promising young special operations officer, who was almost transferred to us, went AWOL. Given that we were trying to rescue your sorry ass, you mind filling in the blanks a bit? And what's the deal with the stone bulb on your chest?"

Maybourne looked at the organised evacuation around them and then sighed. Pushing his chair forward he sat down again and looked at them all. "Okay," he said, "Here's the deal. The world is a lot more complicated than you think, Jack."

"Really," he replied, "No kidding."

"Jack, the reason the NID chose Sunnydale for a major base is that there are... certain things that like this place."

"Things?" He raised his eyebrows.

"Jack this place has - had, rather - a homicide rate that would horrify the Mafia. It made LA, New York and Detroit look as if they aren't even trying. When we pulled a statistical analysis we got results that made Gettysburg look like a minor squabble in the park."

Carter frowned. "What would cause that? The place doesn't look like a war zone between gangs."

Another sigh came out of Maybourne, who then winced as something cracked into place in his back. "Damn this glowy stone thing is good." He looked up again. "Okay, this is where you look at me as if I'm mad and ask me if I've hit my head or not. Jack, this town is unusual because it was built on a mouth to hell."

He looked at Maybourne. "That's not much of recommendation for a tourist board to trumpet. Harry, you feeling okay?"

"The original name for this place was Boca del Inferno, Jack. Guy called Wilkins changed it to Sunnydale when he expanded the town a century ago."

"Ah. Not much of an improvement."

There was a clucking noise to one side and Daniel leant forwards, pushing his glasses more firmly onto his nose. "Ah, The Mouth to Hell? This place is Boca del Inferno?"

"Daniel," he drawled, raising both eyebrows, "Do you know this... name?"

"Well, not the place, per se, but I've seen references to a, a place on the West Coast of America that basically had 'stay away on pain of death' attached to them. Frobisher's Compendium mentioned it as a place where, where, priests had to be specially trained in exorcisms and where supplies of Holy Water were in great demand."

There was a scuff of feet and they all looked up to see Giles looking down at them. He seemed puzzled. "Frobisher's Compendium? You, you've read that?" He stared at Daniel, taking in the odd combination of elements, like the non-regulation haircut, the glasses and the fatigues.

"Beats reading the back of a cornflakes packet," quipped Jack.

"Mr Giles, meet Dr Daniel Jackson," said Maybourne, gesturing at them one by one, "Major Samantha Carter, Colonel Jack O'Neil and... Murray."

Jack glared at him. Maybourne was being about a covert as a funfair. "Harry, you ever heard of the word 'secret'?"

A snort. "Jack, you - and I - are in over our heads this time. These people are fighting something extremely scary. Even, potentially speaking, more scary than our... other... friends." He put his glowing stone to his eye for emphasis, winced, and hurriedly replaced it onto his chest. "By the way, this thing's a healing stone."

"Worse than..." Jack pointed to his eye.

"Worse," replied Maybourne.

"Is this one of those conversations where the word 'classified' comes up every ten seconds?" asked red shirt as he passed clutching a very large book bound in leather that made Daniel's eyes light up. "Because if it is, I'm going to lose my temper soon." He glared and moved off.

"Jack," said Maybourne, "The NID chose this place because of its link to the supernatural. We built a base here to study the things that are attracted to this town. We called them Hostile Sub-Terrestrials, or HSTs for short."

"Catchy," said Jack. "You mind telling me what an HST is, when it's at home?"

"A vampire, Jack. Or a demon. There are dozens-"

"Hundreds," corrected Giles.

"-of species. They're drawn here by the power of the Hellmouth, like fish to a lure."

He stared at him. The man didn't look crazy, but maybe one of the blows he had taken had been to his head. He sounded sane, but obviously he was one step away from jamming his hat on sideways and telling anyone who asked that he was Napoleon Bonaparte and that he had to catch the next train to La Belle Alliance and cross swords with Nosey.

"Vampires," he said eventually. "Right. Okay, they run with the Easter Bunny right? Or have I got them confused with, oh I don't know, something that doesn't exist?"

"Yes they do, Jack."

"Harry, are you sure you're feeling alright? No headaches, dizzy spells, thinking that you're a tomato, wanting to flap your arms and fly to Shangri-La? Because if you don't, you need to see a doctor to get an MRI scan or something."

"Colonel O'Neill, he is correct. Vampires, demons, spirits, they all exist and Sunnydale attracts them. Most people tend, tend to turn their heads away from the truth that often lies before their eyes and think up some elaborate excuse to hide from the truth," said the Brit. "For years the local police department wrote off vampire attacks under 'gangs on PCP' and other evasions of the truth." He looked around. "Colonel Maybourne, we'll be on our way soon."

Nodding, Maybourne looked back at Jack. "I'm telling the truth here."

"Vampires. Demons. Right... You can start making sense any time now, Harry."

"Colonel Maybourne, I think that your colleague here needs a little proof," said the Brit grimly. "Angel, can we have a quick word?" he called. The gel-haired guy, who had just returned from outside, put a box down and walked over.

"Angel?" asked Jack incredulously, "Your name is Angel? Where were you when names were being handed out?"

"Dead in Ireland," he replied. He looked like a guy that didn't do much smiling. He also looked as if he hadn't seen the sun in a while.

"Angel, these fellows need some proof of the supernatural. I hate to ask this, but could you oblige?"

"Sure," he said and then something truly horrible happened to his face. His forehead wrinkled and bulged, his incisors lengthened and his eyes turned a feral yellow. "This convince you?"

"Whoa!" cried Jack, jerking back as far as the wall allowed. The others also reacted, although the fascination that Carter mixed in with it did disturb him a bit.

"Oh my god," breathed Daniel, "'And the face of his brother did change, and the beast within did look out and spoke to him with words of the old ones. And then the world did change.' I never knew that quotation in Frobisher's referred to... to... this!"

"Um, pardon me, but shouldn't someone be, oh I don't know, making with the garlic thing now, or whatever you people do with these things? I don't believe I just said that," whined Jack.

Angel's face flowed back to, well, something more human and he smiled a very small smile. It looked painful. "Don't worry, I don't bite."

"Yeah, says you," said Jack.

"Actually," replied Giles, "Angel is a vampire with a soul. On the side of light, as it were."

Frowning, Jack pondered this. "Your point being?"

"He doesn't bite. Not that we have much of a problem with vampires these days. Most of the remaining ones are starving to death, too terrified to come out at night at all."

Jack stared at him. "Too terrified of what? You mean that there's something out there that's scarier than... than..." he pointed with his bound hands, "Him?"

"Yes." Maybourne looked very solemn. "Jack, the NID set up our base here - we called it the Initiative - to study HSTs and try to get a handle on this magic thing. We were making rapid progress. Finn there was on the case. He was one of our best commanders."

"Finn. Right. His old instructor at Fort Bragg swore blind that purple monkeys would fly out of his butt before he went AWOL, but he still did. Harry, we came here to find you based on an anonymous letter that mentioned him as well."

"I know you did," smirked Maybourne. "I sent it."

"You sent a letter saying that you had gone missing? To us? Okay, I'll ask. Why?"

"Because when I visited the Initiative I knew that there was a very good chance that I'd never leave it again. I was asking too many questions about just what they were doing, and irritating the wrong people. Or rather, person. I knew that Finn had gone AWOL two months before so I wrote that letter and told my lawyer to post it to you if he didn't hear from me in seven days. I guess he did what he was told."

Jack paused, mentally counted to ten and then asked the question. "Harry, please don't tell me that an entire NID base has gone rogue."

Maybourne had the decency to look embarrassed.

"Oh for cryin' out loud! Don't you people ever stay on the straight and narrow? And why did they throw you in the slammer and beat you up in the first place?"

"Colonel, both the Initiative and this town are now being run by one Alexander Harris," said Giles grimly. "Or as he now secretly calls himself, Darth Mortalis."

"Should I know that name? Wait a minute... Darth? As in Darth Vader?"

"You're closer to the truth there than you think, Jack."

"Are you guys all _completely_ nuts?"

"Colonel O'Neill, Harris was once a student here in the High School. I knew him slightly, his academic record was spotty at best and his attitude to learning veered wildly from topic to topic. Two and a half years ago one of his oldest friends was killed when an extremely powerful vampire who was trapped in a dimensional rift here in Sunnydale made a bit for freedom. I was able to weaken the vampire, who was called the Master, sufficiently to make his return a somewhat painful one which took him a long time to recover from. Harris took the death of his friend somewhat personally. He was a rather... angry young man. Although I was recruiting a number of people to help in the fight against the Master I considered Harris as being too angry and impulsive for inclusion. If I had..." he looked off to one side, his jaw working slightly. The woman came over and laid a consoling hand on his sleeve. "Well, perhaps I might have been able to help him. We'll never know however.

"At Halloween last year he dressed up as Darth Vader. Perhaps he thought it was a fitting costume. Unfortunately he wasn't to know that Ethan was in town that night."

Red shirt walked up at this. There was a grim smile on his face but his eyes were haunted. "My timing always was terrible," he said. "I thought I was just having some fun and feeding Janus. Never thought I'd have such of an... impact." He looked at the SGC team. "I cast a spell that night on the costumes I was hiring out at a costume shop that made the wearers become possessed by the characters they were dressed as."

Something cold ran up and down Jack's spine. Come on, this was nuts. He'd be believing this stuff next. "Let me guess, he became Darth Vader?"

"For an entire night," said Ethan hollowly. "Using the force to hunt down and destroy anything and everything that stood against him. He killed dozens of vampires, at least ten demons, three police officers and a student dressed as a pirate. Then he really went to work and was halfway to assembling the parts he needed to make some form of spacecraft when dawn came and spell ended."

"Okay, lets imagine, just for a second, that I believe you, which I don't. Once this..." he struggled for a word that didn't have mystical overtones and failed. "Spell thingy ended, shouldn't he have gone back to normal?"

"Unfortunately not quite. He spent the entire night as Vader, using the force almost all the time. It had an effect on him, one that we still don't understand. Once the spell was ended... something was left behind. A part of Vader for want of a better term. A great deal of anger, knowledge of the Sith, technical expertise. And oh, a lot more anger."

"He was naturally approached by Mayor Wilkins almost at once," said Giles, looking over to the three geeks as they left the room with the last computer. "He was recruited into the Mayor's staff, rose up the ranks extremely quickly and was promoted to deputy Mayor six months ago. Sometime during that period he approached the Initiative with an offer of technical assistance. Oh and all the time he was indulging in an orgy of slaughter at night. You might have noticed the corpse nailed to the tree outside. That was The Master. Harris hacked off his hand, broke both his legs, dragged him to that spot and nailed him there to await the dawn. The vampire community was almost obliterated. So was the demon community."

"And that was a... bad thing?" asked Jack, dreading what the answer might be.

"Given the fact that not all demons are evil, Colonel O'Neill, yes. The Mayor then died in extremely suspicious circumstances and Harris took charge of Sunnydale at the ripe old age of 17."

"Oh, come on! A teenage Mayor? That's crap and you know it!"

"He had the law behind him and he also... persuaded people not to ask too many questions. He is a Sith and he has powers that we cannot fully comprehend. He approached the Initiative and they took him in with open arms."

"What did he have to offer them?" asked Carter with a frown.

Giles looked over to one side and then picked up one of the odd-looking guns from the table. Then he turned and pointed it at an empty wastepaper basket. When he pulled the trigger the gun emitted a red bolt of energy with high crack of sound that blew the basket to pieces. "That, for a start," he said grimly.

Looking over at Carter Jack could see that she was busy boggling. Fair enough. "Nice," he said after a while. "I can see why the NID would want to get their hands on something like that." Then something occurred to him and he glared at Maybourne. "Harry, is that the 'new technology' Kinsey said that you people were developing?" A nod was sent his way. "Son of a bitch!"

"Jack, I met Harris. I was a bit concerned about him, but once he promised to start up a production facility and produce those things, the NID was all over him. I kept quiet, but told Finn to keep an eye out. He sent me messages that said that he was increasingly worried about Harris and Walsh, the commander of the Initiative, and then he went missing. He got a message to me saying that he had met the leader of some kind of group that was monitoring the situation locally and that there was an unpleasant explanation for all the knowledge that Harris had. I was getting worried about the requisitions that the Initiative was making – lots of machinery and equipment that had nothing to do with making blasters, as these things are called. I sent that letter and then went in for a scheduled tour of inspection of the place. Asked too many questions, heard a conversation that I shouldn't have, and the next thing I knew I was in a cell and Harris and his goons were working me over to find out what I knew.

"Graham Schwartzkopf and Forrest Morgan were recruited by me and they knew Finn. Hell, they trusted him. They got word to him, he got word to Mr Giles here, and they all busted me out tonight. And now we have to stop Harris. He's building cloning technology, Jack. He's Vader, there's no Emperor and he wants power."

There was a clatter of feet and they all looked around to see Finn burst through the door. "We've got company," he snapped. "Eight men just came in the front door armed with blasters and wearing some kind of body armour."

Giles said an impressively bad word. "Andrew, Warren, Jonathan, Jenny, move. You too Cordelia. Get to the cars. We'll join you in a moment." He picked up the blaster again. "We need to buy some time."


	18. Alternate Sunnydale Part Two

Okay, here, after much delay, is part two. It's been a long time in coming because my computer is being repaired (grr) and because I lost half a week covering a conference in the South of France that meant that I stayed up late a lot and drank a lot of alcohol, which meant that my muse was tipsy and giggling half the time, which made for some interesting, if odd, plot ideas that I have mercilessly crushed.

Thanks to Wendy for betaing the story and thanks also to Sepharih for jigging up a really amazing picture of Jedi Xander and Padawan Oz using photoshop. Looks great!

One last thing – a lot of people have been asking about a Jedi Xander vs Darth Xander match up. Well, I do have one planned, but not just yet.... (evil laugh)

Anyway, enjoy and R&R!

* * *

Despite himself Jack was quite impressed by the sheer speed in which things happened at that point. Finn pulled out a small radio and snapped some kind of short codeword into it, before running over to the big table with the two Brits and flipping it over onto its side, making as little noise as possible. They then dragged it around to form a barrier that Finn promptly crouched down behind with the Ethan guy. Giles had dashed some big cupboard and pulled out a pair of those blaster-things and something smaller, although Jack could see that the cupboard also held what looking like a dust-covered katana and assorted battleaxes. Tossing one of the blasters over to Ethan they both joined Finn. The geeks and the girls had vanished off behind the bookshelves, presumably where one of the former initiative guys were covering their line of retreat, while the other one, whatisname, Forrest, came in quickly through the main doors, hurdled the book counter and took up a firing position.

The - Jack's mind almost rebelled about using the word, but there was no getting around it really – vampire with the hair gel took up another firing position to the right of the main doors, along with the kid. As for Maybourne, Giles threw the smaller something or other, which looked like a handgun version of the blaster, over to him and the NID colonel limped quickly over to a buttress, still holding his glowy rock thing. They all had clear fields of fire. Not bad.

Which just left SG1. Still bound. Still sitting on the floor. Still unarmed. "I don't want to worry anyone or anything," he said sarcastically, "But hello? A little help here please for the guys sitting in the middle of what might be a firefight?"

"Ah," said Giles. "Oh dear. Colonel Maybourne can we trust them with firearms?"

Maybourne raised his eyebrows and directed a rather sly and sardonic smile at Jack. Oh, that guy was just loving this, damn him. He'd be treasuring the memory of vouching for them for years, the little runt.

"I think so, Mr Giles," he replied in a voice that made Jack want to throttle the bastard.

There was a quick pause. "Very well," said Giles and raised his hand in an odd gesture. The green energy bonds around SG1's hands flared briefly and then vanished. Carter was opening her mouth, obviously to ask what kind of technology they were using, when Jack grabbed Daniel by the scruff of his neck, and went for cover like a raccoon caught in a thunderstorm. "Move, people," he barked and SG1 followed his lead, taking up positions behind overturned chairs and boxes along the wall and facing the doors. Which just left the little matter of firearms. Which they didn't have.

He was about to open his own mouth to point out that discrepancy when Finn grabbed their guns, which had been bundled together and scooted them across the floor at them. Carter, who was the nearest to them, grabbed them with a wince at such an unsafe delivery – luckily the safeties were all on – and passed them on to the others before looking around again.

"Where are the zats?" she called.

"The what?" replied Giles.

"The curved hand weapons?" snapped Jack as he checked the magazine for damage, reloaded it, flipped the safety off, chambered a round and took aim at the doors.

"Oh, those things," mumbled Finn, looking around. Grabbing the Zatni'kels he sent them over as well. This time Teal'c was nearest and by the way that the big guy grabbed them both and activated them the former First Prime of Apophis was quite glad to return to more familiar things. His eyebrows must have twitched upwards a whole eighth of an inch as he laid them down to each side and pulled out his automatic. The guy hated the thing, but it was best to rely on more conventional weapons until they knew what they were up against. Zats would be an ace in the hole.

Jack sighed and scrunched the butt of the gun a little more comfortably into his shoulder. "Nuts. How do we always end up in screwed-up situations?"

They waited for several moments in a tense silence when something moved past the doors. There was a light on in the corridor outside and they clearly saw a dark shape briefly darken the lighter line where the doors met. Then another. And another. Finn squinted, raised a hand and flashed three fingers to the left and then five to the right. More movement at the sides of the doors, which was accompanied by ominous little noises that sounded as if something was being placed against them.

Giles hissed: "Take cover and prepare to fire!" and it was at that moment that all hell broke loose. There was an odd sounding hiss, sparks flew out of the hinges of the doors and then they were blown inwards with a sharp crack. Seeing that none of the wooden debris was going to hit anywhere near him Jack raised and aimed his gun and then fired a three-round burst at the chest of the black-clad figure that had appeared through the smoke. The figure staggered slightly and then opened fire with a blaster in his general direction; obliterating half a wooden rail and leaving smoking scorch marks on the walls.

"Nuts," he said again and opened fire at the doorway on full automatic, emptying his magazine at the figure, which staggered again but kept moving forward, letting off another barrage of red bolts. One, no, two figures had joined it and there were others in the smoke, hanging back and laying down covering fire. Carter and Daniel were also hosing down the entrance, supported by Teal'c with his automatic, and none of them were putting so much as a scratch on the guys in black. They were wearing some kind of masks that seemed to be part of their black helmets, masks that came down to protect their throats without impeding movement. Every part of their body was covered in the same kind of material, leaving no bare skin – and it seemed to be bulletproof.

"Who the hell _are_ these guys?" he muttered as he ejected the empty magazine, grabbed for another and ducked as a shower of burning plaster came down from the wall above him. "Apart from being rotten shots..."

Then he heard more shots, but this time outgoing and not incoming as the three men behind the table, having shaken off the pieces of smoking wood from the doors, opened fire with a volley of blaster shots, to be joined by the others on the flanks. The armour it seemed could deflect some glancing blows from the blasters, but not direct hits – the lead figure took one to the chest and fell to the ground with a hole smouldering nastily, while the one next to him was also hit, first in the leg and then in the head, sending him sprawling bonelessly.

The remaining figure laid down suppressing fire that blew chunks out of the table and gestured sharply, bringing his support up. Suddenly there were six black-clad intruders at the door, firing at anything that moved.

"Teal'c!" Jack yelled, dropping his rifle in disgust, having emptied it yet again with no result, "Break out the zats god damn it!" Turning his head he watched as the Jaffa tossed the device towards him and picked up the other one.

"Okay, try this!" He fired a blue spiraling bolt at the nearest bad guy. As it hit the figure shuddered hard but stayed upright and kept firing. "Damn it!" He fired again and this time the guy went down hard. "Yes!" he exulted and fired at the others. Another was hit, this time by both Teal'c and the vampire, before he got another a split second before the kid hit him, while two more went down to the converging fire from the other blasters in the library. Which left one man standing, who seemed rather unfazed by the fact. He ducked a zat blast from Jack and sent off three blaster bolts before Maybourne got him with a shot to the head.

Silence fell, broken only by the faint crackle of flames from the hits to the odd armour and the panting of stressed fighters.

"Clear my side!" shouted Forrest, peering through the smoke. "Clear here!" replied Jack as he peered around the other side. Nothing was moving in the entrance or the corridor outside. It looked like they'd come in dumb. Then he looked back at the armour. Well, maybe not so dumb after all. Looking around he checked for friendly casualties. Ethan and Giles seemed fine, Finn had a cut on his forehead, probably from the door splinters, Forrest seemed okay, the vampire was busy pulling a chunk of wood from his shoulder and the student was unharmed. Then he looked over at his people. Teal'c was okay, Carter was ejecting a magazine and staring in bafflement at the dead bodies and Daniel...

"Oh for crying out loud! Daniel, how the hell do you do this to yourself?" he asked as he crouched over the archaeologist, who was clutching his shoulder and grimacing in pain at the smoking hole in his uniform.

"Practice, Jack, practice. Ow."

There was a weary sigh to one side and the Ethan guy walked over clutching another glowing stone thingy. "Okay, put this close to the wound and keep it there until I say otherwise," came the stern and sarcastic instruction.

Daniel looked at the stone and wrinkled his forehead in doubt.

"I recommend that you do as he says, Dr Jackson," called Maybourne as he stepped out from cover and stuffed the blaster into his belt. He looked, well, a lot better than he had when he had entered the building. "I know it's a leap of faith to trust the unknown, but believe me on this one."

Reaching out Daniel took the stone and held it close to the wound.

"Closer, almost touching the wound," urged Ethan.

Daniel obeyed and then gasped in what looked like relief. "God, that feels better," he breathed as the blackened flesh that was just visible beneath the uniform started to pinken and flow back to a more normal state. "Jack, we need to get some of these things. Might be useful on missions."

Jack snorted. "Yeah, Spacemonkey, like Hammond would approve a shaman on the base." He looked at the wound incredulously. It was almost healed. How the hell was that possible?

The Brit must have caught his look, because he sighed again and stared at the ceiling. "Magic, Colonel, magic. Believe or not, but it does work."

Carter opened her mouth again, caught Jacks' warning look and subsided with just the one muttered comment that there had to be some more rational explanation. Then she glanced over to the bodies, which were ceasing to smoulder. "Sir, we hit them at almost point-blank range. Body armour like that should be thicker, certainly bulkier."

"I know, major. Check it out. While you're there grab some of those blaster things, willya? I hate not being able to punch our weight and the zats need backup."

She nodded and walked cautiously over to the bodies, making sure that they were as dead as they appeared to be and picking up one of the blasters to check on it. "Fascinating," she breathed.

He groaned. "Not now, Carter!"

"Um... sir?"

Jack hated it when Carter used that tone of voice. It just screamed either 'I've got really bad news' or 'the Tok'Ra just turned up', not that there was mush of a difference between the two. Turning he looked down at his second in command, who had been pulling off the masks of the dead men and muttering something about synthetic polymers and chemical bonding.

"Yes, Carter?"

She pointed at the face of the dead man at her feet. He looked remarkably peaceful and strangely Irish.

"Dead body, Major, see 'em all the time. Well, sorta. What's your point?"

Carter raised an eyebrow and cleared her throat. "Sir," she said hesitantly, "Look at the others."

He sighed and looked at the next corpse, which had been hit in the right temple by Maybourne and which was still wearing the remains of its mask. Frowning he pushed the plastic - or whatever the hell it was - to one side. Hum. Kinda familiar. "Twins?" he guessed. Then he caught Carter's eye and looked over the next body. Right. The next? Okay. "Quadruplets?" he said, knowing that he sounded rather lame.

"Try octuplets, sir," she replied.

He gazed at her levelly. "Carter, please don't tell me what I think you're about to tell me."

"They've been cloned sir,"

"Lalala, I'm not listening! Things are weird enough as it is here, we have even more weirdness on the way, there is no way on God's green earth that Hammond is going to believe me when I come to this part of my mission report, and now we have clones?"

"Sir, I know it's hard to believe, and frankly I don't understand how anyone could have constructed the relevant technology but-" She picked up a blown off piece of armour and looked at it. "I mean this stuff looks like plastic, but it just shrugged off our bullets. I have no idea what it's made of, but it's far in advance of anything we have. We have a major problem here, sir."

There was a rumble behind them and then Teal'c was doing his looming act over them. "Clones?" he said in tones of deep and pained disgust. "Such an thing is not right O'Neil. The growing of people is as bad as-" He caught himself and looked around at the others in the library, raising an eyebrow as he did so. "The people I once served," he said in a slightly lower voice. "Such a thing is abhorrent. We should render assistance to these people and assess the severity of the situation."

"Yeah, well, bad guys firing at us is normally a bad thing, and that tends to irritate me," he replied. Hefting the blaster Jack inspected it closely and then weighed it. "Nuts," he muttered after a moment. "How does this thing work?"

The teenager, who had been peering grimly down the corridor with Finn, walked over. "Safety," he pointed out shortly and pointing at various studs, "Firing stud, power cell, stun/kill setting."

"Stun?" asked Jack, raising his eyebrows for what felt like the umpteenth time that day. "This thing can stun bad guys?"

"Yes," said the teenager and then walked off to join Finn again.

"Sweet," he said, musingly. "Okay lets run with the pack for time being. If we have to get involved, we will. But I have a hunch that anyone who sends eight armoured clones armed with guns out of Star Wars is going to follow up at some point, and that here is going to be a bad place to be. Saddle up folks." Turning around he stooped and picked up three more blasters from their former owners. "And get your ray guns here. Damn, I knew this place was bad news the minute I saw how dumb the name was. Lets go."

There was a noise behind them and they turned. Finn was staring at the bodies. "Christ," he muttered. Then: "Forrest! Graham!" There was a pause and the two newly rogue NID men appeared, looking cautious. Then they caught Finn's gaze and looked down. Both recoiled slightly.

"Hell."

"Damn."

"Looks like we know what happened to Michaels."

Jack cleared his throat. "Michaels being...?"

"Master Sergeant Thomas Michaels. Went missing eight months ago in rather odd circumstances. HST ambushed him, we were told, but no blood trauma was found at the time." Finn shook his head. "I thought it was odd at the time. But now... I wonder when Harris started this thing. Started his plan. Whatever he did..."

Getting into the back of the school was easy. However, getting back to their own van was more tricky. There was no room for them in the collection of vehicles that Giles and his whackos had assembled there, which consisted of an ancient Citroen, a just as venerable VW Beetle and a camper van that looked as if someone had shot rocks at it. For one thing it had a roughly patched hole in the right hand side, just above the rear wheel arch.

"Stop sign," said the teenager enigmatically and then glanced at the back of the van, where the three geeks were looking nervous and guarding their precious books and computers. "No way we're going to get everyone in there, Giles."

The Brit strode up frowning. "True," he grudgingly conceded. "Do you have any transport, Colonel?"

"Van, but it's parked out the front."

"Right," he said. "Oz, can you guide them? Angel has driven your van in the past and we daren't take the one that we used to rescue Colonel Maybourne, I imagine that the police are looking for it by now."

Oz, (did these people all have wacky names?) thought it over a moment and then gave a short sharp nod. He looked as unsmiling as ever. "Sure, Giles." Then he turned to Jack. "Lead on."

Four of them walked - or rather skulked - over to the van. Jack didn't. Instead he strode over to the tree by the main entrance and looked at the dark shape that he had seen earlier. It more than looked like a skeleton. It was a skeleton. Turning on his flashlight he ran it up and down the shining yellow bones, noted the furrowed forehead, the elongated canines, the general look of the thing. "Damn," he breathed. "Nothing like more hard evidence. On top of more of the stuff." He stared at it. Creepy.

"Sir?" called Carter from the van.

He turned and walked away from the body of the Master.

* * *

The gear stick was a little sticky, but it finally got into fourth with a little effort. Giles glanced into the rearview mirror and sighed slightly. He could see Jenny's Beetle behind them, her face occasionally showing white in the light of the streetlights.

Jenny. His mind recoiled from the thought of losing her. From... He looked over at the young girl next to him, who was still looking rather stunned at the way that her day was going. "Miss Chase."

Starting slightly she looked at him. "What?"

"You said that... things were different in your world. I need you to tell me everything you know. Everything."

The cheerleader started to talk.

* * *

Sunnydale didn't look like the mouth to hell, but then it was quite late at night and perhaps he was missing something demonic, thought Jack as he drove down the silent streets, being directed by the almost monosyllabic Oz. The kid was what, 18 or 19, and he looked strained.

"So, what tipped you off to all this weird stuff?"

Oz looked out of the window. "I'm a werewolf. Got bitten by my cousin a few years ago. Bit of a shock."

Jack stared at him for a moment and then forced his attention back to the road at Daniel's quiet murmur of: "Road, Jack, road!"

"You're a _what_?"

"Werewolf."

"As in hair, teeth..."

"Messy eating habits, yes."

Jack stared up at the full moon hanging above the road. "Uh, doesn't that thing have any effect? Or is it just a folk tale?"

Something twitched in the corner of the kid's mouth that might almost have been a smile. "Oh yes, it does. I keep it at bay. Wouldn't want to hurt people. Or get hunted down and skinned. You just need..." he paused. "Focus."

Jack's skin crawled as he looked at him. Then he turned back to the road ahead. "Focus?"

"The force, to be precise."

There was a pause as Jack counted down in his head quietly. Then, on cue, Carter said: "The force? I know what was said back there in the library, but there has to be a more... rational explanation."

Oz said nothing at first but Jack could see a small smile. Then the teenager tilted his head and looked at Carter. "Got a pen?"

"What?" said Carter, raising both eyebrows.

"A pen. Have you got one?"

Carter looked around for something and then paused as Teal'c pulled a pen out of his pocket and handed it over to her.

"Put it on the palm of your hand."

Jack was busy driving but when heard Carter's squawk of astonishment he risked a quick look over his shoulder. Okay. The pen was hovering just above Carter's hand and was slowly spinning. He was quite impressed by the fact that he returned to driving with only a small swerve on the road.

"A minor trick," said Oz, "But there you go. I'm not powerful. I'm not Harris. I'm not a Jedi either. I can just sense things. Move small things." He paused and looked very grim. "I'm just someone who has the ability. I'll never become a real Jedi because there's no one who can train me. Well, apart from Harris. But not without me turning. That's one of the reasons why I fight Harris. I use the light side of the force, he uses the dark side. He's a Sith, I'm not a Jedi. Call me an un-Jedi."

"An un-Jedi. Right. And your other reasons ?"

"He killed my girlfriend. She was his best friend as well. Not that it mattered to him."

There was another horrible moment of silence. Then Jack said: "Who was she?"

"Her name was Willow Rosenberg. She and Harris grew up together. He called her his 'bestest bud.' Then he killed her when she found out that he was a Sith. Nasty time in my life. It was before he showed his true colours. Took a while before we knew how she died, but when he walked away from his family and his friends and started to..." He choked off. "Seems to have made him a bit... insane. Guilt. Shame. Who knows what. The vampire population went down so hard that some were running from Sunnydale. He slaughtered even the good demons. It was bad. He was recruited by the Mayor, who ended up dead a few months later. Someone dropped him into a nest of starving vampires. We even think he killed Lucas."

This got Daniel up. "George Lucas? I thought he died from a heart attack?"

"No heart attack. Murdered by Harris. Guess he thought that he'd take some revenge for the loss of the Empire and the fact that Vader went good in the end. In the films, anyway."

Jack looked down the road. He had a really bad feeling about this.

* * *

Hoth Base turned out to be three old caravans parked in a U-shape in a nearby forest. Giles could tell at a glance that the four US Airforce people were not impressed. Well hard cheese, needs must when the devil drove, and other mixed metaphors. He got out of the car and watched as the three geeks started to carry their computers out to get them set up inside the biggest caravan.

Colonel O'Neill walked up, frowning. "You know," said the US officer, "If you're planning on breaking into an NID base you're going to need a lot more firepower. Why not let me contact my superiors?"

"Do you trust them?"

"Yes. Well, my immediate superior anyway."

"Do you trust everyone who might be involved in an assault?"

"Ah. Take your point. The NID has people under rocks sometimes."

"Precisely. Colonel, you may not be too impressed by my people and our setup here, but I can rely on them all."

"And us?"

"Don't give me a reason to distrust you," he said and walked off.

* * *

The clone trooper snapped to attention as he walked past, his blaster at the correct angle and his equipment arranged perfectly. Yes, he thought, the second batch was turning out to be far better than the first, although he'd had his doubts about the original template. He turned the corner and walked down the corridor, his boots echoing along the hallways. Turning another corner he caught sight of the bodies lying in front of the doorway, with the captain bending over them. As he approached, the white-clad figure straightened up and snapped to attention.

"Report."

"My lord, the building is secured but the targets are not here. From the evidence it seems that the Hunters attempted an assault on the library but were repulsed by massed blaster fire," said the captain, his voice sounding rather tinny from the comlink. "All were killed. We found bloodstains in the library, so we know that at least one of the targets was slightly wounded."

All the Hunters gone. Damn. Well, that the last of the first batch, anyway. The Sith growled slightly. This was turning into a really rotten day. Then he caught sight of the captain again, who was waiting patiently.

"Anything else, Captain?"

"Three things my lord. Some of the Hunter's armour is missing. Secondly we found a great deal of these." Holding out his hand his fist unclenched to reveal a metallic cartridge case. "They were concentrated on one side of the library. From the positions and quantity, there were at least three people firing."

"Fascinating," he muttered, picking up the case. "How very... useless. And the other thing?"

The captain gestured at one of the bodies. "Hunter Six has no obvious cause of death, my lord. He was killed by an unknown weapon."

Frowning, he looked down at the body. Then he reached out with the Force probingly, looking for what he half-expected. There it was, a residual smear of alien energy. "Not unknown, captain. A zat'ni'katel, a Goa'uld hand weapon." Looking around the library he smiled slightly. Well, this was interesting. Who had access to one of those? More NID? A Goa'uld agent in Sunnydale? Or a team from the SGC? Turning his back on the library he walked away, gesturing to the captain as he did so. "Remove the bodies. Get a cleanup crew in here at once. Tell that idiot Flutie in the morning that he had better keep this quiet. And double security at the Initiative. Tell Walsh that we might have visitors in the near future and that I want nothing to go wrong."

Saluting crisply the captain hurried off as he walked away. He had a great deal to do. TIE fighters didn't build themselves and he wanted to make sure that the technicians had sufficient motivation to start construction efficiently. Their initial incredularity at building something 'from a film' had been interestingly brief.

* * *

"What are you doing still up, Rupert?"

He turned to see Jenny standing there, wrapped in his coat. Her hair was mussed, she was blinking sleepily and she looked utterly adorable. She came over and kissed him, before laying her head on his shoulder and looking up at the stars with him. "Penny for your thoughts, O Great Leader."

A smile surfaced and he sighed. "Just thinking about tomorrow night. What needs to be done. The possible cost. And an option that seems... extreme, to say the least."

Jenny looked at him worriedly. Not that he blamed her. "Rupert, don't worry so much. The Goddess holds us in her hands, so there's no point worry about things you can't change. Now come back to bed before you get a crick in your neck."

Giving her a more whole-hearted smile, he nodded. "In a bit."

"Okay," she said as she walked off back to their caravan. He looked at her retreating form, dropping the smile. Extreme. What a word to use. Completely insane, more like. He took a deep shuddering breath. When he thought about it, it made him shiver deep inside. To save the world by changing it. Who would have thought that the presence of one blonde slayer would have had such an effect on his life? From what Cordelia had told him, life in that other reality was very different. No Initiative - or rather they didn't know about it. Angel turned into Angelus and then went to hell. So many people alive. Harris was firmly on the side of light. And... Jenny was dead. His mind kept reeling from that thought. No Jenny.

He sat there for a moment, looking up at the stars, endless permutations of the plan flickering through his head. But it all kept coming down to two options. The raid they had planned. And the summoning ceremony that he was going perform. But the cost... the potential cost...

Something ran down his cheek and he brushed at it with one finger, blinking in surprise at the wetness. A tear. How strange. It had been a long time since he had last cried, and he wasn't about to start now. Wiping his eye dry he walked back to the caravan. For all he knew the next day or so might be the last time he ever saw Jenny again.

* * *

Riley Finn stared down at the computer screen, which was still displaying a complicated schematic of the layout of the Initiative base. Symbols were marked in red, others in green, along with a pulsing yellow line that marked their route in. It then split up into three separate threads leading to different areas. It looked very impressive. And very worrying, he had to admit.

"Once the diversion has taken place the main forces of the Initiative should be drawn off to the main entrance. Each team must lay their explosives by the places marked in red. We only have one shot at this, we cannot fail. Once the generators have been destroyed, that will just leave the backup generators, and they just don't have the capacity to cope with the energy demands of this place. Plus, the destruction of the generators also means that there should be a pulse surge from them that should destroy anything that they're linked to - including the clone machines. To be certain, however, they will need to be destroyed as well." Giles put his hands on the table and looked around the crowded room. "Any questions?"

Colonel O'Neill raised a hand. "Are you guys sure that this secret entrance is really, well, secret? I mean, if you guys know about it then what're the chances that the others do? And will be, well, waiting for us with big guns and nasty thoughts?"

Riley smiled. The Colonel's reputation as a special forces operative was literally incredible. His attitude was all the better for his sense of humour. He cleared his throat. "Colonel, I was there when the base was being built, under Major Maddox. The entrance was put in at the last minute and does not appear on the original plans. It did appear on the amended plans, which mysteriously vanished at the same that I did. I thought that I might need to find a secret way back in at some point - and handed the plans over to Mr Giles. The construction personnel are all gone, Major Maddox is on Okinawa and the only other person who knew was a sergeant who was killed by vampires when he went on a supply run. All the way killed, not turned."

O'Neill shuddered slightly. He seemed to be taking the whole vampire situation quite well. "You people seem to take that whole fangy thing so casually," he said, raising his eyebrows. "Okay, three teams. Secret entrance. Big explosives. Déjà vu on just sooo many levels. Right, who goes where?"

"Colonel Maybourne will take Graham, Angel, and Jenny to the first generator room. Colonel, I'd like you to lead the second team with, um, Murray, and Ethan and Riley attached, while Major Carter and Dr Jackson go after the third generator with Forrest and Oz." Giles took his glasses off and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "I will not be going, for reasons that Ethan has already described as being 'completely insane.' Instead I will be attempting to summon the vengeance demon Anyanka. If we are to be at all successful we must explore every option. And frankly we are reduced to just the two options, neither of them particularly palatable."

"Whoa!" said Colonel O'Neill. "We put our collective asses on the line and you're off chanting mumbo-jumbo and trying to conjure up the tooth fairy? I understand that the three amigos over there can't make it, because they have no combat skills, as well the cheerleader. But why not you?" He looked around at the others and stared at the very pale Jenny Calendar and Ethan Rayne. "What?"

"Colonel," said the chaos mage, "A vengeance demon of her power is not easily - or willingly - summoned. And when they arrive they tend to be deeply pissed off and welcome the chance to take out their... frustrations... on the nearest human. Ripper is therefore putting his life on the line. Frankly I'd rather take my chances in the Initiative."

Colonel O'Neill looked deeply unconvinced. "Yeah, whatever." Then he started slightly and stared at Major Carter who, unless Riley was mistaken, had just nudged him hard in the ribs with her elbows. "What?" he said.

"Nothing sir."

"Okay, well let's get prepped and ready. Wouldn't want to keep Darth Harris waiting, would we?"

* * *

Waiting until they were out of the caravan, Jack finally turned on Carter and rubbed his ribs as they walked to their own caravan. "Can I remind you, Carter, that striking a superior officer is a court-martial offence? What was that little nudge for?"

"Sir, can I remind you of what Oz said last night? About this being a different reality due to the actions of this demon?"

"Carter... you know that alternate dimensions give me a headache."

"And did you talk to Cordelia Chase?"

"She gave me a headache as well."

"Sir, in her reality Jenny is dead. If Rupert Giles summons this vengeance demon and manages to quell her or whatever he'll do, reality will be restored, we'll never have been here and Jenny Calendar will be dead."

Jack stood there, feeling sick. "Damn," he said after a while. "Well that sucks." Turning around he watched Jenny and Giles walk out of the caravan. They were holding hands, but both were pale. With what looked like infinite tenderness the Brit caressed her cheek as she smiled at him tremulously. Oh she knew. She knew. Possible death in the caverns of the Initiative or non-existence in an alternate reality.

"I really hate this place," said Jack as he walked off to get kitted up.

* * *

Life on guard was dull and exciting. Dull 99 of the time and exciting 1. Although something had been going on recently. Rumour had it that a prisoner had escaped. The Mayor had not been pleased. He paused. Something had rumbled not too far away.

Captain Thomas Jiminez looked up from his schedule as he heard the growing roar of an engine in front of the main entrance to the Initiative. Odd, there wasn't a supply shipment due that night. Then he blinked. Light was coming in from the headlights of a truck up ahead. A truck that wasn't slowing down much. "Shit! Take cover!" he bellowed as he opened up with his blaster on the main cab and the wheels. Not that he had much luck with the latter, as something seemed to deflect his blasts to one side. With a roar and a shriek the truck smashed through the camouflage netting at the entrance, bounced off the concrete wall to one side and hurtled past him to plough into the main loading bay, scattering boxes and supplies all over the place before stopping with terrible force against the main doors.

Jiminez picked himself up and ran down the ramp, shouting orders as he did. "Clear the rear! Get the flanks! Check for infiltrators! Hogan, Sutton, eyes front in case this is a diversion! Secure the main entrance! Van Der Vat, tell control what's happening!"

He slowed as he approached the truck, looking into the side mirror as he did. Okay, no sign of anyone sitting in the cab so far... no-one upright that is. But there might be someone crouching in the cab. He looked over at Corporal Claus and nodded sharply. "On three. One... two... three!"

Twisting the handle of the door he pulled it out and himself up to confront... no one. It was empty. He looked the cab over and then froze. In the middle of the steering wheel was a metal shape. A metal shape with a display in the middle that had red numerals counting down. It was at 15. Now 14. Now 13. "Run!!!" he screamed as he jumped from the cab and pelted up the ramp and away from the death trap that was about to be the main entrance. "RUUUUNNN!!!"

* * *

The repulsorlift was working efficiently and he smiled thinly. Good. Creating anything from scratch the way that he had been over the past months wasn't easy, but it had all come together recently. Walsh was a massive asset and the fact that he had so many of Vader's memories meant that he was able to call up all kinds of information. The first TIE fighter would be ready in a week. More than good.

Then there was a movement to one side and he felt the presence of the clone captain to one side. "My lord," he said, "There has been an incident at the main entrance. A vehicle has crashed into it."

The ground shuddered suddenly and a loud boom rumbled across the room. "It has exploded, my lord." said the captain with little if any inflexion in his voice. Off to one side a red light started to flash and a dull siren started to sound.

The man who had once been Xander Harris sighed slightly and cracked his knuckles. "We have guests. Prepare to meet them. All units to guard the entrances. Stay sharp." He reached out with the force to send his lightsabre up into his hand. Then he triggered it and the red beam leapt upward to cleave the air with its deadly buzz. "May the force be with us. The dark side, anyway."

* * *

It was a dark corner of a dark corridor. Dust was all over the place, next to a very dusty chewing gum wrapper. Something groaned in the shadows slowly and some of the dust blew across the corridor lazily. A dark line appeared in the wall, a line that widened slowly and then suddenly open up quickly. Riley Finn's head appeared, checked the corridor out and then turned down to address an unseen companion. "Clear."

The entrance opened fully to reveal a hard knot of hard-faced people all clutching blasters.

"Sweet," said Jack O'Neill as he swept out, checked his six and peered down the corridor. "Okay, coast is clear. Everyone out for another fun-packed ride. Harry, you take your team off. Carter, stay with us until the correct intersection. Fast and loose, people, let's go."

They darted off down the corridors, with Daniel suppressing an inconvenient sneeze. It looked like this area wasn't used much and Jack cursed under his breath. They were leaving a really great trail of footprints in the dust behind. Ah well, life was a bitch sometimes. Halfway down the corridor Carter peeled her group off, disappearing while Daniel blew his nose as silently as possible.

Now for the tricky part. They'd chosen a route that ran along the side of the base that Finn had said wasn't used that much, but in Jack's opinion there was a chance that some poor nosy technician might be wandering around with a wrench looking for some damn system that might have been on the blink a week ago. Finding a quiet area of the SGC was next to impossible. Coming to another intersection he risked a quick look around the corner, followed by a longer one once he realised that it was empty. Dating across the entrance he motioned the others to follow him quickly. As they did he called up the memory of where to go next. Let's see... Ahead, left, right, up a flight of spiral stairs, right, take care of the guards. Sweet. And... he snatched a quick glimpse of his watch, the diversion should be starting any second now, if this magic doodat thing than Rayne had created worked as it should, along with his little surprise.

As if in answer to his thoughts he heard a dull crash of a muffled explosion and suddenly every light was flashing, while the alarms had started up. They sounded oddly familiar though and it was a moment before he realised where he had heard them before – in A New Hope, when the Death Star was under attack from the Rebels. His mouth quirked into a slight smile. This was getting weirder by the minute. There was no way that Hammond was going to believe any of this with concluding that they had all been on very heavy drugs. He quelled the thought. Now was not the moment to lose focus. He turned the next corner quickly, checked it out and rushed on down the corridor holding his zat. If they did bump into anyone he wanted them taken out with the minimum of noise and fuss.

They were able to get to the generator room undetected. Or rather to a corner just ten yards away, as the doorway was being guarded by two men in good old-fashioned fatigues and not so old-fashioned blasters. They looked like the kind of men with good reflexes, no imagination and excellent bladder control, making them great guards.

Hum. What kind of paranoid nutcase went to the trouble of posting guards on generators? Obviously someone who had far too much evil brooding time on his hands.

He slowly pulled his tiny periscope back around the corner and drew his zat. "Teal'c, there are two guards. I'll get the one on the left, you get the one on the right. Ready? Go." The two men stood up and then simultaneously leant around the corner, aimed and fired, so that the slithering sound of unconscious men hitting first the wall and then the floor merged into one.

They shot into the room as fast as they could. The generator itself was a great hulking piece of machinery against one end of the wall. Somewhat ominously there were a number of tape markers on the floors with tags attached. More equipment was obviously going to be installed in the near future.

Jack sighed and pulled out a block of C-4 with a grin. Time to demolish. This was the fun part sometimes. Blowing things up was fun. Dealing with the effects was something else.

A few minutes later he was busy crawling underneath something massive and wondering what the hell he was doing again. After a few more minutes he heard a short click on his radio. "O'Neill."

"Carter, sir. We're set here."

"Good, we are too, just about. Any word on Maybourne?"

"No sir."

He placed the block of explosives in place carefully, set the timer and backed out. "Okay, we're done. Prepare to move."

"Yes sir."

There was another click and he toggled the radio carefully. "O'Neill."

"Jack, we're done here."

"Okay, Harry, we're looking good here. Proceed to phase two."

"Roger."

Jack looked at his radio for a moment. In his experience things were going well. Rather too well. Call him Mr Suspicious, but he had a sneaking feeling that life was never that easy. Phase two was going to be the point that things fell apart, he could just tell.

* * *

Cordelia looked at the dribbly candles, the chalk diagram and the small vial of what Giles had told her was mouse blood, although he had also mumbled something about three small pieces of wood and a ritual with a very odd name indeed if he needed to summon death. Hopefully she had misheard.

Giles walked back into the room looking about as grim as she had ever seen him. "Right," he said, "Everyone out now. This going to be extremely dangerous and I have enough blood on my hands as it is. Please move away from here. I don't know what's going to happen, but I'd rather not involve you all."

There was a strained looked about his eyes but he smiled at them all. Cordelia looked at the three geeks and nodded slowly. In her experience Giles might be a boring Watcher guy, but he was a caring boring Watcher guy.

"Let's go, guys," she said.

That Jonathan guy was looking at Giles with a lot of seriousness. Then he nodded slowly. "Okay," he said. "Pull out, people."

When Cordelia looked back at Giles she saw something in his face that made her shiver. A look of determination. A look of dread. A look of loss. She shuddered and walked away.

* * *

The captain walked into the room and came to attention again. "My lord, we have secured the main entrance. A great deal of damage was inflicted, but normal deliveries should be resumed in a short time. Casualties were minimal and no incursion has been reported. The reason behind the attack is unknown."

Darth Mortalis sighed bitterly and stretched out with the force. A diversion. How blindingly original. He could feel.... Something. More than something. Then he smiled grimly. "Well, well. Osbourne is here, the force is with him. And... others. Sound the alarm. Stay alert, stay focused. Leave them to me."

* * *

The room had a small service hatchway in one corner that allowed access. Teal'c had almost gotten jammed a few times, but with Finn pushing and him pulling, they'd kept him moving. Frankly it was scarier than anything that Jack had ever seen. Rows after rows of cylinders, with steamed up fronts. He brushed the frost away from one of them. A pale face with highly defined cheekbones and short blond hair was on the other side. "Eep. Very... Nordic." Looking around he counted the cylinders. "Damn. How long until these guys are done?"

Teal'c prodded a dial. "Two days according to this dial, O'Neill. More clones for this Harris."

He shuddered. "Okay, T, plant C4 everywhere you can. Look for a junction box or something. If we can unplug these damn things in one fell swoop then we take all his goodies away. Finn, Rayne, guard the door."

Moving between the cylinders his eye fell on a large box with cables running to a large automated console on one side of the room and he paused. "Looks promising." He set his blaster down and inspected the back of the box, which had a pattern of green lights that just happened to match the pattern of cylinders. Jackpot. Pulling out his last block of C4 he placed it carefully where it would do the most damage, set the timer and stood up, clutching his blaster. It would go off in ten minutes or if he pressed a button on the main remote, which would make life very interesting for anyone on the vicinity.

Two things happened at that point. The first was that he heard a distant sound of blaster fire and groaned. The second was that the doors on the other end of the room opened with a startling suddenness and three people walked in and then froze. The first was some kind of technician. The other two appeared to be actual Imperial Stormtroopers, from the white armour to the blasters. More white-clad figures were in the doorway, obviously staring in the direction from the sound of firing was coming from.

Finn and Rayne fired straight away, getting one of the guards and the technician at once, but the other guard had just enough time to get off a shot that smashed into the Jaffa's chest and hurled him to the ground before Jack blew the Stormtrooper away.

"Hell!" he barked, but was unable to check on his friend because suddenly the doorway was filled with shapes and the air was filled with vicious red bolts of energy. Pulling out his zat he used both weapons to fire at the perfect target filling the entrance, as Finn pulled back to get a better field of fire and Rayne tossed a glowing ball of energy into the guards and huddled back along the wall. Something exploded with a great crack of power in the corridor outside and suddenly the place was a lot quieter.

Rayne, with a cut on his forehead from flying debris leaving runnels of blood on his face, snatched a quick look out and then grinned. "Useful," he said and stood up again. Then he made an agonised choking noise that was part scream and part curse. Jack, who had been halfway to checking on Teal'c, span to see about a foot's worth of glowing red beam projecting from Rayne's side, having apparently come straight through the wall.

The beam vanished abruptly, leaving Rayne to slump down clutching at the monstrous wound in his body, and a black-clad figure was stepping up at the doorway holding a humming red lightsabre.

This had to be Harris. He looked like a kid at first glance until you looked at his eyes, which were deep-set and had black shadows around them. He looked grim, angry and ready to kill. His gaze swept the room and then he gestured nonchalantly, sending a stunned Finn flying off to one side, where he hit the wall and fell over, unconscious.

Jack swore desperately and raised the blaster to snap off three quick shots, but the lightsabre blurred and actually deflected them to impact uselessly against the wall. He was raising the zat when Harris gestured again and it flew from his grip to vanish over the Sith's shoulder in the billowing smoke that filled the corridor. He fired again with the blaster, but this time the figure just held up one hand and deflected the bolt with a wave.

Harris paused and actually deactivated the lightsabre. "Ah. I should have known. The infamous Colonel Jack O'Neill. The NID has files on you that make great reading, Colonel. You're right up there on their Christmas card list, if they could combine a card with a grenade that is." He smiled crookedly. "I see that my idiot soldiers didn't cause too much damage in here. When I saw them firing into the room I was going to kill them all myself, but that mage Rayne got them instead. Oh dear, I seem to have broken him. What a pity."

He walked forward slowly, not sparing a glance for the huddled figure to one side. "Impressed? Takes a lot of work to get a Spaarti cloning setup going. I had to make all kinds of things to persuade the Pentagon to fund this place. You might have been using some of them soon if you hadn't come in here meddling that it. I'm going to have much larger teams with better weapons when I'm in command of the SGC."

"Dream on, the jobs already taken. You must be the Darth Vader-like guy running this place," said Jack with a sneer. An irritated bad guy was, from his experience, rather inclined to do stupid things. Get him mad, get him to either talk through his evil plot or just provide him with an opening.

Harris tilted his head and stared at him as if he was a very small bug. The smile flickered again. "Don't you think that the Earth would be safer if it had better guns? Better weapons systems? Better spacecraft? Staffweapons are large and bulky, blasters are far better to use. Your X302's are nowhere near adequate to take on deathgliders properly and the reverse engineering you've done has been pitiful so far. I have designs in my head for better craft... TIE fighters, TIE bombers, TIE Defenders, the more advanced models... Shuttles, lifting gear, and all the things needed to get into the asteroid belt and get the raw materials for bigger spacecraft. Goa'uld ships are almost as pitiful as yours. One Star Destroyer could take on four Ha'Taks and turn them into so much vacuum-floating scrap without getting that white paint job so much as scratched.

"No, colonel, I think that I'm in a far better position to defend Earth than you. I can advance Earth's defences so far that in a year the Goa'uld will be the ones running for their lives, defending their Stargates and wondering how the hell to stop me."

Jack smiled grimly. "What, exchange one set of would-be masters for a Lord of the Sith? No thanks, I'd rather take my chances with our pitiful weapons." He waggled his blaster. "These things are rather cool though, so once we've finished here we'll take 'em home and Carter will play with them."

"Hardly. Once you're dead I can go off and deal with the rest of your rabble, which my people seem to be having trouble taking care of. Ah well, at least I get to find Osbourne and break his mind to accept a position as my apprentice. Not a bad day, really."

Oh hell. Jack fingered the control in his pocket. Time to see what their luck was really like. Having no choice, he pressed the button.

The next few moments were rather packed. The box blew up at the same time as he heard a dull thump from far overhead and then a mad whine as the power output to everything spiked upwards and then died abruptly. Everything seemed to explode around him, which was good, but also hit him, which was bad.

Jack felt something crack in his leg as he went flying backwards to land against a console and then bounce off onto the floor. Hell, he thought, trying to keep the pain away, the Doc's going to bawl me out for that. Heh. If he ever saw her again. He looked up, shaking his head. Something was very wrong with his leg, there were bits of glass fragments in his side and there was the coppery taste of blood in his mouth. In short, he hurt a lot. Then he heard footfalls ahead of him and saw a pair of black boots to his front.

Harris looked rather pissed, not that he could blame him. Sparks were still flowing down from the shattered equipment behind him and the lights kept flickering madly as the backup generators struggled to keep up with demand. Not that it mattered anymore.

There was a thrum as the lightsabre extended, casting a ghastly red light. "You have no concept of what you've done, have you?" the Sith hissed. "No idea of the work you've ruined, the things you have destroyed."

The red beam was waved before Jack's face and he grinned impishly in response. "Yup, just call us Earth's great spanners in the works. And you're screwed, O Vader-wannabe." Something cracked in Harris's free hand as he flexed it. "Not as screwed as you will be when I'm finished with you," he replied and then the red blade came up and then down and... stopped.

Jack looked up astonished, to see a massive, bloodstained, hand wrapped around Harris's. Then suddenly the hand wrenched the lightsabre away and then smashed it down on the floor, so hard that the blade flickered briefly and then finally went out.

Teal'c was standing there, covered in blood, shaking on his feet and looking as if he was about to pass out. How the hell he was even alive, given the blackened mark on his chest from the earlier blaster bolt, was amazing. The huge Jaffa smiled grimly. "You will not kill my friends," he said, and then hammered his heel down on the lightsabre, hard. The device shattered into pieces, what looked like a ruby rolling away into a corner.

"Bad move," growled Harris and gestured, sending Teal'c flying away to hit the console beside Jack, which disintegrated as the huge man smashed into it. "Now I'm really bloody furious!" screamed Harris. Then he calmed himself with a visible shudder. A twisted smile came over his face and Jack winced. It looked like Harris's grip on sanity was starting to not just ebb but riptide away.

The Sith looked down at Jack and Teal'c, who was lying ominously still, blood running out of one corner of his mouth. Then Harris's smile intensified further. "By the time I've finished with you, they're going to be mopping blood off the ceiling for months to come. Did you really think that I can't build another lightsabre in a few days? Even hours? Um?" He frowned slightly. "Oh dear, don't start dying on me now. Let's jump start that heart with a little squeeze..."

Something rippled in the Jaffa's chest and suddenly he was taking a huge, hurt breath of air that looked as if he was in immense agony. Then he started shaking slightly as he went into shock.

"Leave him alone!" screamed Jack, drawing himself up on the knee of his good leg, ignoring as hard as his earlier victims. the white-hot pain from the other one.

"Or... what?" asked Harris, sarcastically. "You're going to bleed on me?"

"New rules," said a shaking British voice behind them and suddenly there was a great flare of light as a ball of blue energy impacted on the Sith's back, throwing him across the room just as his earlier victims had been. He hit the wall hard, banging his head and then sliding down the surface of the wall.

Jack turned and stared at the doorway. Ethan Rayne was standing there, shaking as much as Teal'c had, one eye closed and blood running down his face, panting as if he had run a marathon. "Sorry I'm late," he said, holding up a faintly glowing stone and then letting it clatter to the ground. "Just enough there to keep me going for a little while longer." The great wound in his side was still there, but it looked less angry and bloody than it had.

"Don't you ever stay dead?" growled Harris, and Jack looked over to see that the Sith had got back to his feet, a bruise starting to swell on his forehead. "Well, at least I get to kill you as well. Again."

The Brit smirked that extremely irritating smirk. "Hardly." A crackling noise started up as he raised his hand, another blue sphere of energy gathering around his hand, which spitted and sparked. "Like I said, new rules."

Harris laughed mockingly and gestured. There was the sound of protesting metal and part of the air conditioning came loose with a shriek and hurtled towards the chaos mage, who raised his free hand. As he turned his open palm towards the flying debris a bolt of gold light flashed out and vaporized it.

The Sith's smile faded and he gestured again at one of the shattered cloning cylinders, lifting it in the air with a 'pock' noise as the cables beneath it parted under extreme stress, before sending the whole thing swooping at Rayne, who moved his hand in a hooking gesture that sent the cylinder spinning backwards to just miss the groggy Finn.

Growling with fury the Sith drew himself up and sent a white and jagged bolt of energy straight at his opponent, only to see it spatter and die against some kind of energy field surrounding him. By now the Brit was very pale as whatever the hell he was doing sapped his strength. His face was covered in his own blood now and he was breathing as if he had run a marathon. "I'm... going to... put... you... back... in your... box..." he said wheezingly, looking down at the glowing blue energy, which seemed to be reached some kind of charged limit, because it wasn't flashing any more. A grin appeared suddenly. "Showtime."

Harris frowned and then smirked, reaching out with a hand to grasp empty air. "Let me test your lack of faith..." Rayne swallowed convulsively as Harris did the whole throat-clutching thing, but never took his eyes off the Sith. If anything the grin got bigger. Then his hand flashed back and then forward, releasing the globe, which floated towards Harris.

The Sith snorted with contempt. "Magic? Useless against me! Not with the force!" He raised a hand to brush the globe away.

And then his hand met the globe... and passed straight through it. "What?"

The blue globe drifted on, going straight towards the Sith's head. His hand went up to bat uselessly through it again... and again... and again... "No!" he screamed, "No!"

It kept going, straight for his head and then brushed against it, almost gently, but the very touch of it made Harris flinch wildly. "Nooooooo!!!!"

"I revised... one of my... spells," smirked Rayne, suddenly able to breathe again.

Slowly - too slowly - the globe worked its way into the Sith's skull, accompanied by his manic screaming.

"Nooooooo!" he bellowed, clawing at his face, prying vainly at his skull... but by now it was too late. Far too late.

"I brought you... into this world," said Rayne with a grim smile, "And I'm going... to take you... out of it." His hand gestured and the globe completed its journey into Harris's head. He screamed again, a long hideous echoing noise that ended when he suddenly jerked convulsively, went rigid and then collapsed bonelessly.

Rayne stared at the body dully and then fell to his knees, shaking with reaction. "I did it," he said hollowly, "He's dead." His smiles seemed be immensely painful. Then he keeled slowly over onto his unwounded side with a great sigh.

Jack looked at the devastation and then looked over at Teal'c. The big guy was ominously still as Jack dragged himself over, gritting his teeth at the pain from his very broken leg. "Doc's... going... to... kill... me... heh... metaphorically, anyway."

As he reached his friend his heart sank. Teal'c was breathing, but his colour was lousy and he was trembling in a way that was not at all healthy. "T," he said gently, checking his body and wincing at the number of wounds. This was not good. "Teal'c! Can you hear me? You okay?"

The breathing slowed slightly and then picked up as the big Jaffa opened his eyes slowly. He coughed and then looked over at Jack with infinite slowness. "O'Neill."

"You okay there, big guy? You hit that console pretty hard."

"Were we successful?"

"Yeah. Rayne did a Daniel and came back from the dead to pull our chestnuts out of the fire. Harris is dead, his clones are toast and this place is blowing itself apart. Pretty standard mission. Sorta."

A slow smile spread over his friend's face. "Not... quite, O'Neill. I am dying. My body is broken."

"Oh come on," he said with false cheeriness. "A week in the infirmary, a chewing out from the ol' Doc, some happy pills and you'll be champing at the bit to kick a little Goa'uld butt."

Teal'c shook his head slowly. "My symbiote is dying, O'Neill. And I did not so much hit the console as the console hit me. Into me." His hand came up, wet with fresh blood. "I am dying," he said again and this time his voice was much weaker. "O'Neill. You... must tell Ry'ac... what we have done..." One hand came up to grasp Jack's in a wrist to wrist clasp. "It... has been... an honour... to fight... by your side... We have... accomplished... many things... I die... knowing... that I have... done... much..." His voice was very weak now as he struggled to speak. "I die... free..."

Jack looked down sadly, feeling the weakening grip of his friend. Then he gently reached out and placed the Jaffa's hand on his motionless chest. "Catch you on the flip side, big guy." Hearing the sound of running feet he looked up to see Carter, Daniel and Finn run in and stop dead at the scene in front of them.

"Is he..." Carter said as she waved her blaster at Harris.

"Yeah," said Jack, "He's dead. Took Teal'c with him though. Rayne got Harris." He winced as he tried to stand and Carter hurried over to help him up. "Oh, god damn it! Bust my leg up when Darth Harris there threw me through the air with the greatest of unease." He looked down at the body of his friend. "Teal'c smashed his lightsabre. Saved us all."

Carter brushed away her tears. "Maybe we can get the Asgard over and have Thor revive him?"

"Yeah, maybe. If we get out of here in one piece that is. What's our status?"

"When everything went up it had a big impact. I think a fuel line blew somewhere. Walsh and the main body of the Initiative are dead. Maybourne's taken command of the others, but they're having trouble fighting the fires. We're cut off here. All the clones are dead and the power's going to be out soon once the emergency back ups run out of fuel. Angel took a blaster bolt to the chest. He's dead. Oz, and the others are looking for another way out, but it doesn't look good."

"Story of our freaking lives." He looked up as Daniel straightened up from bending over Rayne. "Jenny!" he called and the woman limped wearily through . Then she stared and darted forwards.

"Ethan!" she cried, crumpling to her knees. "Ethan..."

Jack looked over tiredly and then caught Daniel's look. "Oh crap. Is he...?"

Daniel nodded slowly. "Yeah. Won't be long now."

Carter helped him over slowly to the crumpled body of the chaos mage, whose head was now being cradled by the weeping Jenny Calendar. Rayne opened his eyes slowly and looked up at her.

"Damn," he wheezed, "I did... something good... didn't I? Typical..."

Jenny nodded, tears running down her face. "Afraid you did. But you made up the balance. You took him out. Evened things up."

He nodded slowly and then coughed wetly, letting a trickle of red blood run out of the side of his mouth. "Tell Ripper... I did the... right thing... coped... against my nature... worth it... worth it... put the balance back...he's gone. He's gone... I... put... him... out... like... I... brought... him... in..."

The chaos mage's eyes went dull and Jenny let out a wail of dismay and hugged his head to her.

Something exploded out in the corridor and the heat level climbed rapidly. Jack looked at Carter and sketched a quick salute. "Good to serve with you, Major. Daniel."

"Same here sir."

"You too Jack."

The flames licked higher.

* * *

"You fool!" shouted the vengeance demon. "What makes you think that her world is any better?"

Rupert Giles stood in one corner of the shattered caravan, holding the amulet in one hand and a blaster in the other. Jenny's face filled his mind, filled the very core of his being. They might have done it, for all he knew. But he couldn't take any chances. There was too much at stake. Getting the demon here had been bad enough – she had been mad with anger but he'd matched her, just. Jenny. How he loved her. And how he was about to lose her. Something rumbled far away and he wondered what the final butcher's bill was, who was dead by now. Everything hung in the balance.

"It... has... to be!" The blaster came down and his finger tightened on the trigger. A red blast blew the amulet to pieces.

The world went dark.

* * *

Xander paused in bafflement as he laid a hand on the suddenly human figure in front of him, who was staring at him in extreme confusion. Then he asked the most obvious question: "What the hell just happened?"

Buffy looked over his shoulder. "What? Nice shoes, there."


	19. Looking For A Demon

More apologies! I spent a week in Portugal recently. Having worked myself almost into the ground I needed the break very badly indeed. It's funny, you never know how tired you are until you take a break – whereupon you sleep for 12 hours a day. I have had such a break and I feel a lot better. Here is the latest chapter, being somewhat of a filler for the next one, of which I can safely say: heh heh heh... (evil grin)

Many thanks to my invaluable Beta, Wendy.

* * *

Wolfram and Hart was a place that never slept. Parts of it didn't have eyelids for a start and other parts were not strictly speaking alive and not strictly speaking dead, so sleep was something that was rather an alien concept to those parts. It could be a bit confusing sometimes.

Holland Manners liked the place at night though. There was a sense of movement, of undercurrents, of... things happening. So much to do, much information to sift. One man's useless chaff was another man's gold nugget of data. He smiled quietly and sipped at his glass of Oban as he stared out of the window onto Los Angeles. The city that never slept either. The city that fed the branch of Wolfram and Hart that sat in it rather like a trapdoor spider, waiting for the next scurry of feet across the ground as something careless wandered its way.

And information got you the sound of that scurrying. Information was his specialty. Who was up, who was down, who was sideways. Who was watching his or her boss with hungry ambition, who was sliding down the path to indifference, who was focused and who was incompetent? It was all there in a hundred little facts and figures, in body language, real or faked, in expressions that often flashed across a face without the owner realising what they'd done, in language in memos, in phrases that set off landmines when uttered to the wrong person.

He put the single malt down and walked back over to his desk, where a trio of pale folders was waiting for his inspection. Three of his most brilliant subordinates were all displaying slightly worrying signs of losing their own focus. Lee Mercer had been sniffing around a rival firm. That was understandable, after all Lee was an ambitious soul and so far things were at the tentative stage, but if he took things too far then he would have to make a very messy example of him. Such a shame, the man was good, but that was life.

As for Lilah Morgan, she was showing signs of faulty judgment, especially when it came to picking subordinates. This was vital - you had to know who to choose to carry out a particular job and when to have them dropped over the side to sleep with the fishes - or the fish-man hybrids that had been seen off the coast of Malibu recently - when the police showed atypical signs of intelligent life. Her so-called 'master plan' to get the Book of Shadows out of the hands of those witches in San Francisco had backfired spectacularly when the demon thief she'd hired had bungled the job and gotten itself annulled. Literally.

Which left Lindsey. Who was showing classic signs of rediscovering the atrophied remains of his conscience. This wasn't too worrying - it happened to most of Wolfram and Hart's lawyers at some point in their careers. Hell, it had happened to him, once. But the key to a successful role at the firm was to realise that your career here was more important than anything else, like innocents. Although Lee and Lilah's collective conscience wouldn't have been larger than that of a brain-dead cockroach.

Ah well. Perhaps the Sunnydale excursion would make him realise that there was more to life than worrying about things. After all, Wilkins was a legend. You didn't meet a legend every day, did you?

* * *

"Ah, this sounds promising - Antarlya. Oh wait, that's a fish demon. Very ugly one as well. Damn." Rupert Giles put the book down with a sigh and removed his glasses so that he could massage the bridge of his nose. He had the start of a hell of a headache. Researching could be a real pain, he thought, especially when they were still trying to find out what the hell had happened three weeks ago. He sank back in his seat and looked over at the Jedi next to him. Xander's account of what had happened - the feeling of massive power and a demonic presence that had turned into a rather baffled human teenager. It was all very peculiar, but then so much of life on a Hellmouth was naturally peculiar per se.

At least they had the girl under observation. It would have been better to have her under lock and key, but as she seemed human at the moment and as it might not be a good idea to have her flee, they were playing this one by ear. That meant, first of all, going through a massive number of books to find out if she was in any of them. So far they hadn't had much luck.

"Giles, I might have something here," said Xander. "Anyarta, female demon, very powerful, likes cats and the beating hearts of living men. Oh wait, says here 'Deceased due to decapitation by shrapnel whilst sightseeing at the Battle of Kursk, 1943.' Nuts."

"Sightseeing at the Battle of Kursk?" came the query from Oz, who was balancing on one hand in a corner of the library. "How does that work?"

Looking over to the werewolf Giles smiled. "Oz, demons don't have exactly the same recreational pursuits as humans, although there is some overlap, like card games, and even some team sports. I'd hate to play rugby against some of the demon teams I've heard of though. No, World War Two was very popular with the demon community. They found it amusing to see the human race committing mindless atrocities and utilising such terrible weapons on itself. Of course that all changed after they realised that a tank could blow a hole in the biggest demon. And Hiroshima. And Hamburg. A lot of demons thought that they could take advantage of the war. They were unpleasantly disabused of that notion. The Watcher's Council... settled some scores here and there." He looked over at Xander. "Is he supposed to train and talk at the same time?"

The Jedi Knight looked up, an intent but amused smile on his face. "Yes, Giles. It's called multitasking. Trick will be doing three or more things at the same time - balancing your body, using the force and say singing, all at the same time. Teaches concentration." He nodded sharply. "He's doing well. He's going to be on sword training within another week or so. I'd like your permission to use the library when that starts. Get him off to a good start. Oh, here comes Buffy."

As the Watcher nodded the main doors opened and Willow and Buffy both entered. "Hi guys!" gushed Willow and Oz wobbled in the air slightly.

"Hey!" said Xander. "Focus! Feel the force, not your hormones."

"Yes, Obi-Wan," said Oz, waved with his free hand at his girlfriend and then closed his eyes. After a second he straightened his pose.

Willow turned to the table and put the book she was carrying down. "Sorry, Giles. I looked and I looked but all I found was a yucky demon called Anytarg the Black, who's dead, and the entry came with pictures that made me feel all... icky." She shuddered visibly and opened the book to a page marker covered in pictures of small ginger kittens with unfeasibly large eyes. Giles looked at the pictures of 'Anytarg chastising the unbelievers of Gorn on the day of the winter Solstice' and made a firm mental note not to eat any cheese before going to bed. God only knew what his dreams were going to be like otherwise.

"Indeed. Well, we'll keep looking. Oh, Buffy. I had a call from a Bishop Brennan in Rome earlier on. He wanted to thank you for saving those three priests from that gang of vampires. I don't think that he liked them very much - the priests I mean."

"Well they were kind of odd," said the Slayer. "The young guy kept asking me which..." she screwed up her face, "Filum, whatever that means, they were going to be in and the old guy kept staring at..." She blushed, "bits of me and saying words like 'Drink!' and 'Girrrls!' and the middle guy was your standard well-meaning loser."

"Well, the Bishop was very grateful. Well, he said he was at least. Anyway, now that you're here you can help us. Grab a book."

Buffy grabbed with a certain lack of enthusiasm. "We've been doing this for weeks now. It's dull. Dull Buffy is not a happy Buffy." She caught his gaze. "Okay, whinge over. Total study mode now. Good thing Faith's on Anya-spying detail right now. She hates dull as well."

"That may be, but we must find out what happened," admonished Giles. "I don't like the thought of someone unknown lurking out there." He thought for a moment about what he'd just said. "That was terribly trite, wasn't it?"

"I thought so," said Xander, turning his head to inspect a picture better. Then he shuddered. "Is that her head or her... oh God, can this thing get any worse?"

Chuckling, Giles pulled a new volume over. "Well, these are just the demons with inherent internal powers. I think we can soon rule these out if we can't identify her from these.

"No, it's more than possible that what we're dealing with is a creature that follows - or followed - the talismanic school of power. Which would explain a great deal."

Buffy and the others looked at each other. Then they looked back at the Watcher. "The what?"

"Buffy, have you never read the Watcher's Guide in detail? I mean cover to cover?" One look at her somewhat red face gave him an instant answer. "Oh dear."

He stood up and walked over to take up what he knew Buffy had described as his 'Watcher explains to dumb slayer' stance. "Very well. Simplifying things massively and cutting out a great deal of detail, there are, broadly speaking, three classes of power when it comes to demons and gods, three ways in which a being can project power." He paused and took a stab in the dark. "Have you ever read the Lord of the Rings?"

"Oh that. Yeah. Skanky evil ring, short guys, good guys, guys with big beards, bad orcs, insane former short guy, big battles, yadda yadda yadda, more big battles, ring ends up in volcano with lava that goes blup, skanky evil guys blow up, good guys win. That cover everything?"

He stared at her. "Blup?" he asked eventually.

"Kablooie, if you prefer."

He shuddered. "Buffy, I was the chairman of the JRR Tolkien Appreciation Club at my college. You'd have been... well, if you'd given that description back then people would not have been very happy and they would have probably thrown you in the nearest river."

He turned back to his explanation. "Yes, well, talismanic powers involve a god or demon pouring their power into one specific object, most typically a piece of jewellery, like a pendant or a ring. This has certain advantages. It can enable them to concentrate their power, for example. On the other hand if they lose that object, if it is stolen and then destroyed-"

"Or goes blup,"

"Or goes blup, thank you for the sound effects Buffy, then they can be severely weakened or even destroyed themselves. And if they were human before-"

Xander looked up at this. "Then they can be human again. That might explain a lot, Giles."

He shrugged. "Well it's one theory, anyway. And, and one worth exploring."

There was a pause, punctuated by several yucks of disgust from various people and one 'I think I'm gonna be sick' from Willow as various pictures were viewed and descriptions read.

Then a voice came from the corner of the room: "Giles, what are the other two types of power for demons and gods?"

He glanced over at Oz, who was still balancing but was now also tapping out what seemed to be a drum measure in the air with his free hand. "Well," he said with a sigh, "The second involves creatures such as these that internalise their power. In other words they are their power, which can make them extremely strong and at times almost indestructible. I use the word almost. They have certain limitations - if they meet a stronger power then they can be defeated. Vampires are good example of this type.

"The third type is both the most potentially powerful and the most... potentially draining. Some gods or demons rely totally on worship - the power of prayer. This can be immense. The more people believe in them, then the more power they have. There is, of course, a catch."

"People lose their faith," said Xander and Giles gave an internal smile. The man was progressing faster than he had hoped. If his long-term goal worked out then... well, things would be different.

"Well done, Xander. Yes, a significant loss in support can weaken a being that relies on this form of power. If there is a war that involves significant bloodshed, or a people are conquered and converted, then the dynamics change, a being can go from immense power to, well, not a lot. It's a dangerous path to tread."

He took his glasses off. "History is, is littered with peoples who worshipped gods that are no longer remembered. No longer thought of. There are no altars to Marduk any more, or Mithras. Ashur is gone, so are Bel, Toutatis, Lug, Jupiter, Poseidon, the list is, is almost endless. Not that such gods entirely vanish." Giles sighed reflectively.

"My cousin John is now an archaeologist but he trained as a potential Watcher with me. He was in Iraq on a dig before the Iran-Iraq war started in 1980, at the Tell that once was the Assyrian city of Assur, where the main temples to Ashur were situated before the city was utterly destroyed in the great disaster of 612 BC. One night there was a lunar eclipse and he was standing on the site of one of the temple courtyards to observe it when he heard... a voice. Wailing on the wind in Assyrian. Mourning the dead. It was Ashur, reduced to little more than a memory, a ripple of thought on the wind. What the author Terry Pratchett would call a small god, a spirit, little more than that. They're everywhere. Call them ghosts of gods."

The others visibly shivered and he chuckled dryly. "Probably a good thing. When people have different ideas about the same god, the effects can be... unsettling. Apparently there were so many priests to Jupiter by the time of Constantine that the poor creature was hopelessly insane and went around with two styli up his nose and his underpants on his head saying things like 'whibble whibble' in response to prayers. That's why Ethan ended up worshipping Janus. He was the only old roman god with his marbles still more or less intact and some power left. Apart from the Goddess, of course." He smiled. "Bona Dea."

Turning he caught their collective look of shock. "What? You believe in vampires and demons but not the old Gods? They were real, once."

"So every time you say something like 'By Jove' then..."

"Yes Buffy, you're calling on the god. Not that he's going to show up. Well, he might, but he'd, um, probably just say 'whibble' at you."

The Slayer looked bemused. "I'm so going to watch my language from now onwards."

There was a scrabbling noise and Giles turned to see Willow flipping through one of the largest books. "Hey," she said as she looked up, "That might explain this odd reference in this book to Anubis. Says that there were two different aspects to the god, two sides to him. It. Whatever."

Ah. Giles paused. "Willow, references to the Egyptian gods are always... somewhat confusing. The original gods were bad enough - it's very difficult to think coherently if you have the head of an ibis, plus the priests had a nasty habit of merging gods every now and then that just, well, sent them even more around the bend.

"But a second group also sprang up briefly around the time of the Fourth Dynasty, the ones that built the Pyramids of Giza. These... creatures is one way of describing them as they certainly weren't human, took on the names of the Egyptian gods and ruled a substantial part of the ancient world for close to a generation.

"They were not exactly popular. Thousands of people were vanishing, no one knows where too and eventually the hatred that these creatures were stirring up overwhelmed them. There was a massive revolt and they disappeared, never to be seen again. The Watcher's Council heard rumours of some kind of magical artifact that was used, but it gets a bit hazy, this was almost 4,000 years ago and the Egyptian priesthood of the time made the Vatican look like a bunch of feminist atheists. Very conservative and very secretive."

"So these nasty bad things just vanished?" asked Buffy. She groaned and tapped on the table. "Knowing our luck they'll reappear in our back garden tomorrow."

"Try and be more cheerful, Buffy."

* * *

He liked to be at his office first thing in the morning, and that meant dawn. Putting his briefcase carefully down to one side he sat at his desk and looked through the messages that had been left there. One from Mr Trick, his valuable vampire aide, on the nights' events. He might to have a word with the Catholic Church again about seminars in Sunnydale. Having vampires kill priests was all very fine and dandy, but if there were any foreign priests being killed then attention might be drawn to his city and that would not be fine and dandy. No siree bob. Having two damn slayers in town was bad enough, the last thing he wanted was for Camillo's damn special blessings group to arrive and do their work.

Hmmm... and another escorted truckload of supplies had been shipped in to the Initiative. He really should get more involved with sorting that out. Having the US military going around the place was never a good idea. He'd heard some interesting stories about recent events, some of which were disturbing. Not that they would pose a threat to him after his Ascension, which was getting closer and closer.

The Summers girl had been out again the previous night. It was a good thing that the First Evil had been thwarted, an all-out war between that thing and the Powers That Be would have brought far too much attention to the place. And Harris had been out with Summers. He leant back in his chair and placed the tips of his fingers together. That one was a doozy. At first he'd accused Trick of having had a few hits at the local vampire bar, but when he saw the video... well, he was impressed. Much as he despised Rayne's anarchism - damn it, you needed a little order! - the concept had been brilliant. The after-effects had not. A Jedi in Sunnydale. Very freaky. Killing him would not be easy. Ah well, he'd think of something.

What else.... oh, Bob The Damned was back in town. What a shame, but he had been warned, hadn't he? Too bad but Trick should be able to enjoy himself thinking up something appropriately messy.

Ah and a Lindsey McDonald would be arriving from Wolfram and Hart today. What fun.

* * *

The best thing about Wolfram and Hart sometimes was the fact that it had a transport department that was more like a car mall. He'd picked out something black and fast that mysteriously failed to show up on police cameras and which made radar speedometers melt. He left LA at 10am and he was on the outskirts of Sunnydale 42 minutes later. Damn, it was sweet. Checking into his hotel (and performing a quick barring spell on the room in case of visitors in the night) he glanced at his watch and saw that it would be another two hours until he saw the mayor. Time to stretch his legs.

The place was surprisingly normal for something that stood on the mouth of hell. It had a Starbucks, although he strongly suspected that Starbucks were turning up everywhere, including several alternate dimensions. People looked so damn uninvolved here, so oblivious to the fact that they were walking on a hellmouth. Settling his sunglasses more firmly on his nose he walked on, past the high school, rubbing at a tingle on the back of his neck as he did so. Probably not such a good idea to get so close to the actual Hellmouth itself, situated as it was under the school library.

He wandered on, looking at the cemeteries in particular. Oh there were a lot of cemeteries. He shook his head and passed on his way back to the hotel.

Getting to the town hall proved to be easy. Getting to see the mayor was a little harder. A medium sized man with a moustache and eyes that were hard and inhuman met him and quickly but efficiently searched him and his briefcase. He would have protested, but the eyes told him that this guy wasn't human. All part of the welcoming committee, no doubt. He co-operated and was then taken down a long corridor where a nervous man with a twitch almost collided with him. By the way that he jumped at the very sight of his escort, yup he wasn't human. Possibly a vampire. Another corridor and then a set of double doors. The escort tapped quietly and then opened the door to let him in.

Wilkins was standing at the window, glancing out and he dismissed the escort with a wave. "Thank you Tom, I'll take it from here." He walked forwards. He was an average-looking man, with fair hair swept back and a suit that had obviously cost a lot of money. The mouth smiled, but the eyes did not.

"Hi there. Richard Wilkins." His hand came out and they engaged in a brief test of grips. Wilkins broke the contact first. "Wolfram & Hart told me that you are the man of the moment there, Mr McDonald."

Lindsey smiled easily. "For the moment, Mayor Wilkins."

"Take a seat. Coffee?"

"Thank you. White, no sugar please."

Wilkins seated himself at his desk and used his intercom to order the drinks. Then he clasped his hands in this lap, leaned back in his seat and looked at him, obviously assessing the lawyer.

"So, tell me, how's Holland these days? Still playing off a ten handicap?"

"Down to seven now," drawled Lindsey, not letting his faint bemusement show. Wilkins knew Holland?

His best poker face must have shown something, because Wilkins smiled. "Holland and I met in LA about 20 years ago, just after the last... negotiations. I understand that Holland got a promotion back then."

In the privacy of his head Lindsey swore. Yes, Holland had been promoted. In odd circumstances – he'd done his homework on the records of the last time the Arrangement had been negotiated.

"They never did find Mr Trant. I wonder why," he said and this time he noticed that the smile did get as far as Wilkins' eyes. Wow, he'd impressed him. Putting the pieces together had not been easy.

"Mr Trant... ah, Mr Trant wasn't the best lawyer that Wolfram & Hart could have sent. And he just happened to fulfill certain..." the eyes glittered with something. "Requirements." He straightened in his seat and placed his hands on the desk.

"I can see that you're a different case, Mr MacDonald. A much better class of lawyer for a start. Shall we stop fencing and get down to it? The Arrangement benefits both sides. I keep an eye on the Hellmouth – hell, I built this place, so who better to administer it? You get all the relevant information without risking your people. Not that that would matter to the Senior Partners, they don't care who lives or who dies, do they?

"And in return for this Wolfram & Hart keeps its nose – or whatever it uses to smell – out of Sunnydale. Out of my affairs."

Lindsey nodded thoughtfully. That was the bare bones of the Arrangement. And Wilkins was right, it was a good deal. But that left some of the other areas around it, and it was here that the hard bargaining would go on, where the finer details needed to be renegotiated every 20 years. "We have a large number of clients," he said, spreading his hands apart. "Sometimes they have... business here on the Hellmouth. Getting to Cleveland can be difficult at times, and some of the other Hellmouths can be extremely hard to reach. We need to come to an understanding on such points, to prevent any possible confusion."

Wilkins nodded himself. "Good point, and here's a funny thing. Five Sankregs just happened to turn up here last month from LA. They had an encounter with the Slayers and a... friend of theirs, which they didn't survive. Funny thing is, one of those big red devils had a card from Wolfram & Hart on them. Said Lilah Morgan on it."

The lawyer deliberately flickered an eyebrow. Lilah thought she was so damn smart. "They were here against orders. Ms Morgan was employing them for a job in San Francisco, but they took the earlier death of one of their kind rather personally and, ah, diverted themselves."

Wilkins smiled again. He seemed to be enjoying their little dance. "Sankregs sure are tough customers."

"So are Slayers. We appreciate your efforts to keep an eye on them."

"Only two of them were killed by the Slayers."

Lindsey paused, thinking very hard. Connect the pieces, he thought. What killed that Sankreg in the desert last summer? What could take down a Wraith? Was there a connection here? "What killed the others?"

"Cards on the table, Mr MacDonald. Last summer a lad called Alexander Harris left Sunnydale. When he came back a few months later he knew an awful lot about how to kill a Sankreg."

Harris, he thought, wasn't that the name of a homeowner on one of the few properties near the cave where the Cross had been? A relation? What to say? And why was he enjoying this fencing session with Wilkins so much? "Well, Mayor Wilkins, perhaps we should agree to share more information? About this Harris and any other issues that might come up? And given the problems that came up when Buffy Summers left town, perhaps we should talk about more reliable forms of communication that the phone that would benefit both sides?"

"Perhaps we should." There was a knock on the door and a smartly dressed woman entered with a tray on which were two bone china caps, a pot of coffee and a little jug of cream. "Ah. As my dear old mom used to say: shall I be mother?"

* * *

When the door finally closed on the lawyer, the Mayor surprised Mr Trick by letting out a breath of air. "Man! That is one hard bargainer. Some people just don't know the meaning of trust anymore, and that's so hard to cultivate these days."

"Trust or distrust?" asked Trick from his post at the door. "He seemed to be quite good for a Wolfram & Hart lawyer. I've met him before."

"Trust is an alien concept to Wolfram & Hart," replied the Mayor, frowning absently at his hands. Getting up he walked over to his private washroom and used the sink to give them a quick scrub. "No, that one's good. No wonder Manners chose him and Manners is a man after my own heart." He paused. "What's left of it anyway. No, our young guest played his cards very well." Wiping his hands on a soft towel he carefully hung it back up and walked back out to his cabinet.

"Was it... wise to give out so many hints about Harris?" asked Trick carefully.

"Better to play to form and drag the negotiations out over a couple of days. This Arrangement is supposed to be good for another 20 years. Trailing Harris in front of their noses means that I get to confuse the trail. The Senior Partners must never find out what I'm up to here." He opened the cabinet and looked inside. "Besides, it's kind of fun to get back to cut and thrust of negotiations. Takes me right back to the good old days. Of course back then we had a more open view of bribery and lynching."

He emerged with an upside-down skull that had been mounted on a pedestal. Trick eyed it warily. He really didn't want to know what his employer had tucked up away in that cabinet of his.

Wilkins looked inside, pulled something out and popped it into his mouth. "No, young Mr McDonald is good. So sharp he'll cut himself one of these days. He'll go far. If he lives that is. And better," he slapped the smooth side of the skull, "Than Mr Trant. Oh, where are my manners." He held the object out. "Jellybaby?"

* * *

"_Climbing up on Solsbury Hill, I could see the city lights_..." Faith stopped singing quickly as she saw the figure at the table. Liking old stuff was bad enough, but there was no way in hell that she was going to let the others know about it. Then she relaxed. It was Mr Jedi Knight.

"Hey Xand-man, whatcha up to?" she asked as she swung up to the table. There were a lot of maps and stuff spread out over it. Tugging at the end of one she pulled it out. "Plan of municipal sites in Sunnydale," she read out loud. "Taking up a new career as a civil servant?"

Xander looked at her and then smiled briefly. "Finally got a chance to do the research I've been planning for ages." He reached out and pulled a big map over towards them. "Faith, you ever notice how easy it is for the vamps to get into the sewer system?"

"Yeah, well, the fang-faces like the dark and gross places of the world. What's your point?"

"But it is rather easy for them to get there. This place is honeycombed with tunnels, Faith. Water, gas, electricity inspection, you name it Sunnydale has it. That's kind of handy, don't you think?"

"Handy? Guess so. That's vamps for you though, they like taking advantage of things."

"Yeah but it's funny how none of these tunnels go under any churches. Any faith-based places. And the number of manhole covers in this town is incredibly high. I did some checking thanks to Wills, the girl who the Mayor knows no fear when it comes to hacking. Sunnydale has got more manhole covers per square mile than New York."

She stared at him. "You're saying that this place was... designed to be easily accessible?"

"No," he said grimly, "I'm saying that this place was designed to be vampire-friendly."

"Xander that's crazy."

"Why?"

"This place is too big, and it goes back like a hundred years!"

There was a big book further along the table and this suddenly moved over to her as the Jedi guy used the force. Damn, that was a nice gift to have. The book was open but she could read 'History of Sunnydale' on the top of each page. Xander's finger stabbed down at a picture on the left-hand page and she saw a picture of a group of men dressed in old-fashioned waistcoats in odd, stiff poses around a big clock. Why was it that pics from the old days always showed hairy old guys who looked as if they were about to fart, or chicks in what had to be trendy S&M kit that involved very small waist? The picture caption read: 'Mayor of Sunnydale Richard Wilkins I with fellow councilors at the new town hall, 30th June 1898.' Next to it was a picture of the same guy next to some dude with a pointy helmet thing with a metal duck on top called Wilhelm. The dude, that is, not the duck.

"Meet someone who's been around for a hundred years."

The guy's cork was obviously getting a little loose. "You sure this Jedi stuff hasn't done something to your head?"

He sighed and pulled over another book. The same guy was pictured, but this time the caption read: 'Mayor Richard Wilkins II with Vice-President Richard Nixon, 1957.'

Okay. "So his son looked a lot like him?"

Another sigh and today's paper was in front of her. The same guy yet again, with the caption: 'Mayor Richard Wilkins III talking to House Speaker Newt Gingrich.'

"Guy sure likes Republicans, anyway." She scanned all three pictures again. "Okay, you sold me. It's the same guy doing the Highlander stunt, leaving everything to himself every time he 'dies'. Now what?"

"Now I try to persuade Giles that I'm right."

She grinned at him. "Lot of evidence there and the G-man is good on the books. You'll manage it, no sweat." Leaning on the table she took a long hard look at him. "You know, with all the things you can do, I'm surprised you're still in Sunnydale. You can do stuff that would make David Copperfield hang his wires up. Showbiz, baby, showbiz."

He looked back at her. Then he glanced down at the floor. "I never had a choice here Faith," he said. "Buffy came to Sunnydale and everything changed. I lost an old pal to vampires and the next thing I know my best friend and I are hanging with the Slayer along with our school librarian. We could have walked away but we didn't. We're Scoobies. Next thing I know some mad chaos mage is in town and I've got the life and times of a non-existent man in my head and the knowledge that I can do things. Life sucks here in Sunnydale. We've got more vampires than LA has lawyers, there are demon things that I really don't want to think about and I think that there's a secret Army base nearby somewhere.

"And then there's you and Buffy. Giles has told me what the life span of the average Slayer is. That's why I stay here. To make a difference. To help as best I can. It's the Jedi way, Faith. Help the innocent. Fight evil. That's my choice. I get to decide this time and I choose-" he gestured at the mound of demon books that were stacked in one corner, at the weapons cabinet in the corner and the headless target that had been carelessly tucked behind the counter. "This. How can I leave? Why?"

Faith realised that she was staring at him and then shook herself out of it. "You're a weird guy to be around, Xand-Man, you know that? Yeah I know that my life's tough. It was tough before I woke up one morning and realised that I could punch through walls and leapt tall buildings – well, okay, short buildings – with a single bound. Not quite the same life as B. She has it lucky. Nah, I'm just me. So I make with the slaying and I shake my booty and I party pretty damn hard. You shouldn't worry about me, I'm gonna run my own race and see where that takes this slayer." She slapped him on the shoulder carefully. "Let me know what the G-Man says about your theory. I got some patrolling to do and then I'm Bronzing with B."

* * *

Xander watched her walk out of the door with a frown on his face. Turning back to the table he hopped up onto it, settled himself into a meditation pose, embraced the force and ran the entire conversation back through his head, along with the feelings that Faith had been experiencing. Puzzlement. Confusion. Acceptance. Disbelief. Bemusement. And all the time, like an undercurrent, fear. Doubt. Specifically doubt in herself.

Opening his eyes again he looked at the wall opposite with unseeing eyes. Damn. Why hadn't he seen this coming? Always too much to do, too much to take care of, too much to plan. And now this. He muttered something that he'd once, sort of, heard from a Corellian smuggler on Coruscant.

"I beg your pardon Xander?" said a bemused voice and he turned to see Giles standing at the doorway with an armful of books. "I'm not sure what language that was in, but it sounded... pungent."

Hopping off the table Xander winced slightly. "Giles we have a problem. Two problems to be precise. I'll get to the one with all the evidence second, but I really think that we need to have a little talk about Faith first."

Putting his books down hurriedly, Giles turned. "Faith? Is she alright?"

"Physically, yes. Mentally, no. She's too fatalistic. Definitely an 'eat drink and be merry for tomorrow we die' girl, and far too rooted in the here and now. And she's afraid, Giles. Not of the vamps, not of the demons, I think that she's afraid of herself." He paused, struggling to put all the feelings that he'd been picking up for months into words. "I think that she doesn't have a lot of self-worth. And when she compares herself to Buffy, the other Slayer – I don't know what she sees. What was her pre-Slayer record like?"

"Pretty bad, I'm afraid," said Giles, looking pale. "Father absent since infancy, mother in prison on an impressive array of charges, ranging from petty theft to soliciting to major theft. Xander, what exactly are you saying? Faith seems to have settled in very well here. The Council is paying for her accommodation, which is cheap by her request. She seems to have dealt with the death of Mrs Horrocks as well as can be expected."

"I'm saying that we've been taking Faith's word for how she's been doing and we've been measuring her by the one yardstick that we have – Buffy. That's a hell of a thing to lay on someone, Giles. Buffy may not be a council-trained Slayer, but you said it yourself that she has raised the bar on Slayerdom. What if Faith feels she can't measure up?"

Removing his glasses and staring off to one side Giles did some rapid thinking. Then he tapped his glasses against his nose and walked over to the table, where he sat down.

"That's a very alarming thought, Xander. But, but you're right. We have been treating Faith as we treated Buffy. A Slayer is not just a Slayer as my father once put it. Each is individual, no matter how well they are trained."

Replacing his glasses he looked up at the Jedi. "You know, Xander I still don't think I've thanked you properly for seeing straight through Gwendolyn Post so easily. Or for dealing with that child-demon last week."

This threw Xander somewhat. "Hey, what's the big deal? The minute Miss Evil opened her mouth I spotted with the force that she was lying through her teeth and it took but a moment to whisper that in your ear. As for the other one... I could see that those two bodies weren't real at all from the start. Made it easy to chop the heads off. No big deal, like I said, though I was lucky that I killed it before Buffy and Mrs Summers turned up on the scene." He shrugged and wished for a second that he had a robe with big sleeves that he could tuck his hands into. Jedi weren't into the whole thanks bit. Duty was all, protecting the innocent was all. "What did the Council decide about Miss Evil anyway?"

Giles shuddered. "They packed her off to a place with no occult leanings whatsoever to atone for her crimes. Port Stanley, Falkland Islands. Apparently she looks after sheep there. And helps to map the old Argentinean minefields. Very nasty." He coughed. "And I'll take your advice about Faith. Perhaps some more training sessions. Or a birthday party – it's her birthday next week."

Xander frowned. "She never said anything."

"I know. Which is why I believe your theory might be true. While party hats and birthday balloons aren't really her style I think that we can organise a few other things to make up for it."

The Jedi nodded slowly. "Nice idea. Make her feel more of a Scooby." He smiled. "Haven't used that phrase in a while."

Giles smiled back. "Xander, I think that you act as a valuable touchstone for us all. You never let your powers go to your head, you think of others more than you think of yourself sometimes, you seem to be..." he struggled for the right words.

"Giles, I'm a Jedi. It's what I do." He paused. "Buffy's coming. Let's plan this out later. Oh, and we also need to talk about the Mayor of Sunnydale, because I don't think he's human."

When, a moment later, Buffy came through the doors, she was with Willow and Angel, who looked much more with it than Xander had seen before. The vampire with a soul nodded formally at him as he approached, wrinkling his brow in thought as he did. Xander gave a silent sigh. He needed to have a word with Angel about what he remembered as Angelus. They still hadn't talked about it as Buffy was more worried about Angel's recovery from his several centuries in a hell dimension. The only thing that Angel had been able to cling onto in his time there, bobbling like a cork of memory in a sea of madness, had been Buffy. You had to respect that. Deadboy was no more. Angel was Angel.

All were clutching books and looking defeated. Apart from Angel, who just looked thoughtful. "Giles," he said, "I have a bad feeling about this demon – or what was a demon. I mean power like Buffy said you detected-"

Xander threw a quizzical glance at Buffy, who made an 'oops my bad' face.

"-must have been pretty powerful. And I remember hearing something about a demon back in 1920's who would appear and disappear from sight whilst granting some kind of wishes, ah, mostly to scorned women. I can't remember the name though..."

"Ummm... was it... Anyanaka?"

"Yeah, that was it, and..."

They all turned to look at the main doors, where a worried face was peeking around the entrance.

"Cordy," said Buffy in a bright voice, "Care to share something with us?"

The former cheerleader inched into the library clutching the one book that she had been assigned to read. "I, um. Might have found her. It. Whatever."

"Well done Cordelia," said Giles in a voice that was slightly too jovial. "And, and do you have an entry on this, Anyanaka?"

"Promise me you won't shout at me first," came the reply. When she received a number of glares she huffed in exasperation and walked to the table. "Okay, Anyanaka. That's her in the flesh. Sorta."

Grabbing the book in eager hands Giles pulled it open to the required page. He read. He paused. He reread. Then he said something that sounded as bad as Xander's earlier Corellian, before adding: "Oh dear lord. A vengeance demon. A D'Hoffryn variant demon to be precise." Then he brightened slightly. "Ah, a talismanic power being, like I surmised. Interesting. Oh."

He looked up. "What did you wish for again?"

"Hey, I didn't know that she was a skanky evil thingy demon did I? Just because someone says something – that isn't granted! – doesn't mean that they did a bad thing? Does it?" Cordelia looked as worried as Xander had ever seen her. He cleared his throat.

When she didn't take the hint he said: "She wished that Buffy had never come to Sunnydale."

This earned him a glare from Cordy. "Well, yeah, maybe, but it didn't come true, did it?"

Giles sighed and took off his glasses. "Well no."

Cordelia glowed with relief. "There! You see?"

Her relief was cut short as Giles replaced his glasses. "Not that we would remember it. I think that it's more than possible that the wish was made, did come true, and was unmade. Why else would this Anyanaka lose her powers?"

Buffy raised her hand. "Um, I think I speak for all of us, when I say 'what?'"

Making a face Giles stood up. "Well, this is quite complicated to explain. Such vengeance demons vary in power but the D'Hoffryn group is amongst the most powerful, capable of bending space and time. Cordelia's wish could have – probably did – come true. But if something happened within that world, that dimensional offshoot as it were, to her power centre, said to be a necklace or pendant, then reality would snap back to the place where the last major fork in the road was made. The last decision. The last wish."

He looked up. "We might have been living very different lives within that previous place. The fact that she is human now means that she has lost her powers at some point between the moment that Xander sensed her and the moment that the alternate world collapsed upon itself." Another frown. "Schrodinger would have had a field day with this stuff."

Searching for a little rationality Xander pulled the book over. A picture of a female demon with stripes along her face looked up at him. "Okay, so she's a demon." He read more of the description. "A thousand year old demon. Who loves torturing men. And who's just lost her powers. And is a high school student who can't order anything more than a diet soda." He looked up at the others. "Okay, no-one needs a spider-sense to know that the one thing that she's going to be keen on is getting her powers back. Question is, how?"

"I think that we're getting ahead of ourselves here," said Giles. "She's not going to approach Willow as she might suspect that we're watching her. So she might go to one of the magic dealers in Sunnydale itself or one of the demon shamans that are around. We'd better keep our ears open about who is in town at the moment."

There was a sound that appeared to be a cross between a groan and a sigh and they all turned to Willow. "Or someone else in the school. Um. Like Amy. She's, she's powerful. Um. And I saw her here tonight. With a bag of things. Which I should have mentioned earlier on. Um, my bad?"

"Oh dear god. Spread out and find her. Fast."

* * *

Anya felt exultant. She had a chance at getting her power back now, a real chance. She'd talked to this brainless fool of a human and had charmed her into performing a 'finding spell' to get her amulet back in return for her writing a history paper for her about the Tenth Century in Europe. It was easy - big swords, big beards, her relatives going off every now and then to raid England and kick some Saxon butt, much quaffing of mead and slapping of barmaids. She scowled for a second. Not that she would mention bloody barmaids. Or Rhodri Mawr.

She sat down on the opposite side of the circle and waited for Amy to start the ritual.

* * *

Just outside one of the science labs Willow felt sick. Something was building up in the air, something that felt icky. "Buffy, something's happening. I can feel it. Magic's being used. Quite close."

"You want to sit down, Will?"

"Yeah. I'm okay though. I think." She pointed with a shaking finger. "There. Stop her."

* * *

Buffy burst through the doors, caught sight of the candles and the dribbly things in the symbol that the two figures were seated on opposite sides of and made a fast decision. With one hand she grabbed a surprised Amy by one arm and jerked her away from the former vengeance demon, and then with one outstretched leg she kicked the nearest candle away from the symbol. Red light flashed briefly along the design and then died abruptly. Letting out a deep breath she looked down at Amy. "Didn't your mom tell you to never deal with former demons? Come on." Helping the witch up she walked up to the sprawling former vengeance demon and pulled her roughly up. "We, on the other hand, need to talk."

* * *

It was a very dark alleyway. It was also very dirty. The figure did not look as if it appreciated the location. Then it looked up sharply, staring at the vampire as it weaved drunkenly towards it. "Hey man, stop... stop blurring like that man. Makes it... urp... makes it hard to catch you. Hee hee..."

There was a snap-hiss as the red lightsabre extended, bathing that part of the alleyway in a red glow. The vampire stopped dead. "Cool, man." The figure brought the blade up so fast that it really did seem to blur and lopped the vampire's head off. As the dust flowed down the figure relaxed its poise and flicked the lightsabre off.

"What the hell just happened?" asked Darth Mortalis.


	20. Battling The Dark Side

Okay, this was a hard one to write. I know that a lot of people have suggesting a certain duel, but getting it all in place meant I had to do a lot of thinking about this one. I hope that the end result is as good as I hope it is. There have also been a few comments about keeping certain charecters as they were written by JW, Faith in particular. I'm going to admit at this point that I always thought that JW never really explained properly _why_ she fell to the dark side. I'll also admit that she's been one of my favourite characters. The point is that the moment that Xander put on that costume in Chapter One, the world has been diverging steadily from canon. Things are still occuring as they did - people can't be diverted easily if they come from outside Sunnydale - but Xander's changes are having an influence on the Scoobies and the changes are rippling out from there. Anyway, thank you all for waiting and not threatening to come after me with pitchforks and torches. Thank you also to Wendy, my invaluable Beta!

* * *

The late evening shift was better known to the communications detail as the Graveyard Shift. The capital letters seemed to be mandatory. Every communications team anywhere in the world had one, as it seemed to be traditional.

Although they had been told that things were going to liven up once the rest of the base personnel were mustered in and proper operations started, things were still very dull. There was exactly one reconnaissance team out, a supply shipment was due in at 0100 hours and a maintenance team was dealing with the power fluctuations in Generator Room Two. However, orders were orders.

When, therefore, a signal came in on the high priority channel eyebrows went up in the room. The ranking Sergeant took the call and then paused when he saw the ID line that was coming in. "Caller, we do not recognise your ID line. Identify yourself please."

There was a startled pause and then a very irritated voice growled: "This is Harris. I have never needed any identification, I just require obedience. Now. Where are the standing patrols in Quadrant Seventeen? And why is my private line inoperative?"

The Sergeant frowned. "You are not authorised to use this channel. Further attempts to use could mean that you are committing a federal offence and..." Something brushed against his throat, ghostly fingers scrabbling to close around his windpipe. He swallowed convulsively, flipped the radio off and jerked backwards in his seat, rubbing his throat.

"Damn," he breathed, "Felt like I couldn't breath there for a second." He shook his head. "I hate the Hellmouth. Be glad when my posting to Fort Dix comes through."

* * *

Darth Mortalis stared at the comlink in fury and swore in Huttese. Something was terribly wrong here. The town was alive with vermin, his private line wasn't working and there was no sign of the regular patrols. Plus, he still couldn't remember how the hell he'd got there. His last memory was of working on a more powerful repulsorlift. Then there had been a flash, the sensation that his feet had snapped up to just under his chin and suddenly he had been standing in a rather smelly alleyway.

Keeping his lightsabre clutch firmly in his hand he walked to the street corner ahead and looked around. Sunnydale's nightlife was at full blast. He stalked out into the night thinking furiously. Magic. It had to be stinking magic. But why had he been transported like that? What was going on – where were his patrols and what was wrong with his communications system? It was a shame that he had not been able to get a clear grip on that idiots' throat. Using a force grip when you had a visual target was far easier.

He strode on. He needed answers and he needed them fast.

* * *

When Willow rather woozily put her head around the main doors to the room, a lot seemed to be going on. At least her head no longer felt as if it was being squooshed by a magical elephant. Then she blinked. Amy had really gone to town on the magical circle, at least half of which was unnecessary if it was a retrieval spell. It looked cool though, even if it had been wrecked.

Amy herself was sprawled almost on her back on one side of the circle, her hair in her face and looking astonished. The reason for this was standing opposite her, where Buffy was holding up a wildly struggling girl literally by the scruff of her neck. It looked kinda painful. The girl was also shrieking something about smiting and blasting and something about the fourth circle of hell and something unpronounceable that had very big teeth.

Buffy turned to the door and grinned. "Hey Wills, you feeling okay now?"

Tentatively the witch nodded. "Does she come with an off-switch? She's giving me a headache."

The Slayer nodded thoughtfully. "Hey!" she said to the struggling figure. "Enough with the noise!" She emphasised the order with a shake of the arm that jerked the girl up and down.

There was a long moment and then Anya slumped down sulkily. "You can put me down now," she grumbled.

Buffy lowered her down so that her feet touched the floor again and then moved her grip to take a handful of the girls' sweater. "Wouldn't want you to get away now, would we?" She said cheerfully.

Sighing with relief Willow opened the door fully and walked over to the other witch to help her up. "Are you okay?"

Pausing to rearrange her disordered hair, Amy drew herself up and glared. "What the hell was that all about? I was just trying to get her necklace back, it wasn't as if we were trying to raise a demon or something!"

Willow and the Slayer exchanged a look. "Actually, Amy," she said after a moment, "If you want to be accurate, if you had retrieved that necklace you would have raised a demon. Re-raised it I mean."

"I don't know what you're talking about," said the girl in a tone that was definitely too loud. She looked almost pretty, if she hadn't had such a look of sulkiness about her. With a dash of startlement. "I've lost my necklace and this kind witch was helping me to find it again. I don't know what you mean about a demon. I'm not a demon. Why would you think that I was a demon?"

"Because," said Buffy, her eyes narrowing, "You used to be one. Anyanaka, right?"

The sulky look deepened and the ex-demon glared back. "No," she said eventually, winning the Willow award for the world's worst attempt at lying.

A shuddering gasp made Willow turn to a very shocked Amy. "My bad," she said faintly. Then she looked down to her scattered things. "I'd better pack up," she muttered absently.

"I'll help you," soothed Willow.

"And I'll stand here and hold you in a firm Slayery grip," said Buffy, still glaring at the former demon. "And then we need to talk."

The girl froze and looked at Buffy out of the corner of her eye. "You're the Slayer?" she asked in a weak little voice. "Damn."

Giles was on the phone when they returned to the library, Buffy still holding a very obedient Anya and Willow effectively leading a rather stunned Amy. He did not seem to be in a twinkly Giles mood. Instead he appeared to be in what Willow knew Buffy described "full-on watcherness with added Ripper."

"No, John," he was saying as they entered, "I don't know how you got this number, but as you know, I no longer participate in such practices. And so no I will not help you out." There was a pause as he listened and then his glasses came off with a clatter and he was drawing himself up to his full height. "How dare you?" he hissed with genuine anger, "After all this time, how dare you say that? With all the blood on your hands? All debts have been paid. No, emphatically not. You can't contact the others, they're all either dead or scattered and I will not help you find them." Another pause. "I know. Try him, if he doesn't try to kill you first. Yes. Goodbye. Oh and Constantine? Never ring this number again, unless you want me to come after you. Yes and sod off to you too." The receiver went down with a bang and Giles picked his glasses up again muttering something under his breath.

"Someone you know, Giles?" asked Buffy with what Willow thought was a touch of nervousness. "'Cause you were starting to wig me out just then."

The Watcher started slightly and turned to look at them. He seemed to be a little sheepish. "Ah. Yes. Um. That was an old..." He seemed to be picking the word carefully. "Acquaintance... of mine. I don't know how he got this number, but hopefully he won't be in touch again." He glared at the phone. "He'd better not anyway." Then he noticed the others. "Ah, I see you found them. And given the fact that you haven't been turned into something unpleasant, not that that was ever very likely, you were able to stop anything."

"Not quite," said Willow. "They started something, something powerful, but Buffy was able to make it all go kablooie in time."

Giles looked up at this. "Ah. Perhaps we should fetch the others and then sit down to discuss what happened."

* * *

"This room's clear," said Angel, after looking into the science lab. He turned away and stopped to look at Harris. The boy – man rather, he seemed to have bulked up a bit in the years, no, months that he had been away – was standing in the middle of the corridor, looking up it.

"This corridor and the rooms off it are all empty," he said in a quiet voice. "Same with the level above it."

Angel frowned. This was odd. "How do you know?"

He received a sigh and a half-smile in response. Then Harris turned to look at him. "Long story. You look much better by the way. I know that it's been a while since we last talked. If we ever did before you... turned. And then returned."

Increasingly baffled Angel shrugged as the two walked down the corridor. "Buffy's been taking care of me. Bringing me blood, talking to me. Talking about things. Willow too." He paused. A memory was tickling the back of his mind. "I... don't remember much about coming back here. To Sunnydale I mean." He remembered far too much of that hell dimension though, that was the problem. The very slightest memory of it made him wince. To have gone from kissing Buffy in that room, confused, frightened for her, knowing that she had been in a battle and that he had been... away, somewhere where he couldn't help her at all, and then suddenly to feel that cold steel slide into his chest, opening his eyes to see her tear-stained face as he slid down that terrible vortex into that place... It was hard. The past was like a frozen ocean. There were things under the surface that he did not want to remember, ever again, but sometimes they forced their way up, hard and terrible and razor-edged with anguish and self-contempt.

The memory tickled again. "Where you there? In those first few weeks? I seem to recall seeing you, next to a bright light. It's hazy."

Harris nodded. "Yes I was there. I was there when you fell back into this world. And there's something else." He paused and seemed to be debating something.

When it came it was a shock. Inevitable but still a shock: "How much do you remember of what Angelus did?"

Memories bubbled up from beneath the ice, cold stabs in his mind like daggers. Things he had done... things that his cruel and vicious alter ego, the thing that raged impotently in the prison that his soul had created for him, had inflicted on the people of Sunnydale when it had been free for those terrible months. "Too much and not enough," he whispered, remembering the night that Jenny Calender had died.

"Do you remember our fight in front of Acathla?"

Startled he looked at Harris and then frowned. It was all so jumbled, even now. He remembered bits and pieces of it all, flashes sometimes, long snippets here and there. "Acathla... I remember approaching him and activating the sword and... wait..." More memories forced their way to the surface. Something about two swords clashing, about blows struck from the empty air and... He stopped dead and looked at Harris, who had also stopped. "You said that the force was with you. I... he... thought it was a joke. Was it?"

Harris reached out with his hand and gestured at one of the darkened doorways to one side. With a slight creak the door moved around by itself and closed itself with a firm click. Then he looked back at him. "The force is with me. Do you remember the Halloween that Buffy became a noblewoman?"

Utterly shocked Angel stared at the human. "Yes and you were a... a Jedi." He swallowed. "That's impossible. The spell ended," he said, jabbing at the floor with a finger.

This earned him a tight grin. "This is the Hellmouth, my dead friend. Something was left behind and I became someone very different." He looked around. "This section's empty as well." Then he paused. "Whoa."

Still trying to come to turns with what he had been told, Angel looked around slightly wildly. "What?"

"I feel a disturbance in the force. Something's wrong." He turned. "Buffy's back in the library. Let's go, they might have found Amy and our demon by now."

As Angel followed the human down the corridor he shook his head. Life was getting odd on the Hellmouth. A Jedi in Sunnydale?

* * *

As they went through the doors Xander saw that everyone else was there. Including a rather pale Amy and a very cowed Anya. On the table he could see a bag with various powders and a few dribbly candles. "We get her in time?" he asked.

"Yes and no," replied the Watcher. "Buffy and Willow found them but not before they started the spell. However, no harm seems to have been done. Amy and I are going to double-check that everything is alright before we start to relax." He smiled at them all. "Go home, or is the right term go Bronzing?"

Oz raised an eyebrow. "Amateur night at the Bronze, guys. Even Jedi need to party."

"What about Faith?" asked Xander, raising his eyebrows at Giles.

"She's bound to head that way eventually and if she comes this way I'll tell her where you all are," replied the Watcher. "And I think that anything else will have to wait until tomorrow." He smiled. "Go and enjoy yourself."

As they walked out of the main doors he heard Giles raise his voice: "Except you, Anya!" which was followed by a subdued muttering noise as the former demon stalked back.

* * *

Lindsey flipped open his cell phone and hit the speed dial button. He certainly didn't trust the phone in his hotel room. Wolfram & Hart Rule Number 1 for trips was: never trust the local phones. You never knew who was listening.

A series of staccato blips was followed by a complex electronic noise as the scrambling software kicked in. Legend had it that a Wolfram & Hart contact at the NSA had once tried to listen in on a conversation between two of the firm's lawyers in a phone security test. He'd heard nothing beyond static that had fried his brain.

Then there was the soft sound of a gentle ring. Then another. On the third the phone was picked up and Holland Manners said: "Lindsey. How go the negotiations with Wilkins?"

"Very well so far, sir. I've been able to make a few points about our clients travel arrangements and he's conceded that a more reliable method of communications is needed. I'm uploading a full report to you via my laptop now. Final negotiations start tomorrow morning, but I don't see any major areas of disagreement at the moment."

He paused for a moment and then Holland broke in: "But something's worrying you, I can tell."

Damn, he thought as he pulled a face, how did he know? "Yes sir, but it's more of a hunch than a definite problem."

"Always trust your hunches, Lindsey, sometimes that can be the difference between an acquittal and a shallow grave as my father used to say. Go on."

How the hell did you put a feeling into words? He paused again for a second. "Sir, it feels like Wilkins is trying too hard to make the negotiations play out. He's conceded on a few things that I thought he might fight for a bit harder and he's pressed on a few things that we don't normally deal with. It all feels a bit false, like he's pretending very hard to make me think that this is a normal negotiating session. I can't put it any more clearly, sir. Something just feels off somehow."

There was a long pause on the other end of the phone. "Interesting," said Holland eventually, "Very interesting. Let me know how the second session goes tomorrow and then get back here ASAP after that."

"Yes sir," he replied and snapped his phone shut. Scratching the back of his head he took a deep breath. Something was bothering him and he didn't know what. What had he missed from that day's session? What else was there? He shook his head, but the buzz wouldn't go away. Perhaps he needed to relax a bit.

Grabbing his coat he put his cell phone away into a side pocket, opened the door to the corridor and snapped the light off. He needed a quiet drink and a spot to think. Or perhaps something more lively, he always thought better in a noisy environment and he'd discovered a bar in LA that had a great ambiance. Not your normal run-of-the-mill customers – he'd once seen Lilah there – but fun. He strode off down the corridor.

* * *

He stared at the building in a great deal of shock. The Bronze had been closed for almost two and a half years, ever since that incident with the Master that had left Jesse and almost a hundred others as bloodless corpses. Rumour had it that the place was cursed, although he'd known better. The dark side had been very strong there, steeped in the fear and terror and hatred of the dozens of people who had died in one night of slaughter. As Mayor he'd been considering having the place opened up again as a grim joke.

But now it was open and, the Sith could tell, the dark side was gone from the place. Instead the lights were full on and people were drifting in and out of the main entrance, which had a sign above proclaiming the fact that tonight was amateur night.

He was increasingly confused. The Wilkins Memorial, which he had put up in a finely judged display of irony, was missing from Fourth Avenue, he had encountered three vampires in good health – all of which he had killed – and all of his patrols were missing, along with all the signs about the forthcoming curfew, which was going to be introduced once he had his first major batch of clone troopers up and running. It was as if he had never ruled here.

And something felt wrong – there was a feeling in the force that he could not identify, like a resonance or something similar, as if something was echoing through the force. It all felt very odd.

He strode into the Bronze and looked around with burning eyes. People were dancing here and there, talking, laughing, enjoying themselves despite the fact that someone was committing grievous bodily harm on a Spice Girls song on stage. It was all too nauseating for words.

Then he stopped dead. Osbourne was here. He was on stage, off to one side, talking to a dark-haired man who was holding a guitar. The Sith smiled grimly. Well things were looking up. It looked like Osbourne had slipped the leash and wandered too far away from the stinking Watcher. Well too bad, he would join him in the dark side or die. Either way he would win. He flexed his hand and walked forward a step, bumping into the back of a red-haired girl who turned and grinned happily at him. Willow. Willow. His eyes widened and he froze.

She was babbling about Oz – was that Osbourne? – and how he had volunteered to help out at the Bronze for Amateurs Night, especially with people who hadn't brought their own instruments and when had he changed his clothes since they got there, since they'd only been for a few minutes and why did he look so tired?

"This is impossible," he said in an astonished voice. Then he scowled darkly. "This is some sort of trick. You're dead."

She looked at him worriedly. "Xander are you feeling alright? Because hello, not-deadness here. What's got into you?"

He backed away slightly, his thoughts skittering madly for a moment before settling again. "You're dead," he repeated, "You saw me use the force in secret. I killed you." What was this place, what was this mad world where nothing was right, where everything was different as if... As if it wasn't his world. Something had been done to him, none of this was right. She was looking at him more closely now and then she frowned. "Xander, how did you get that scar on your cheek? What's wrong, what did you mean about you killing me, because you're starting to scare me."

Something had been done to him – the magic users. Rayne, Giles and Calender. What if they had performed some kind of spell on him, taking him to this strange place? He backed away another pace and then turned roughly and pushed his way through the crowd, away from her face, away from the memories of holding her with the force to stop her from running, from struggling, from screaming his name... and then from breathing. He had to get out of this place and reverse what had been done to him. He pushed faster, the fuzziness in his head increasing for a moment and that odd feeling in the force growing. He had to get out of here.

* * *

Willow watched him go with her mouth open. Then she jumped what felt like three feet in the air when Xander's voice said: "Here you go Wills, milkshake with added goo, as requested. Buffy's bringing the rest and..."

She spun around. There he was, but no black clothes, no scar, no bags under his eyes and no mad babblings. He was frowning though and looking into the crowd.

"Whoa," he muttered, "I just got a really odd feeling in the you-know-what."

"Xander!" she said in a strangled voice. "But, but you just left over there! In different clothes! And all 'grry' comments. That's not possible!"

"Relax Wills," said Buffy, who had come up in time to hear this. "Xander was with me and Angel at the bar. What's wrong?"

"Xander was here, only he was all in black and he looked really unwell and he had a scar and he was mumbling that I was dead, which I'm not thank you, and that he killed me and then he went off over there really abruptly and I don't know what's going on."

"I never wear black," said Xander, frowning and looking at the crowd. Then he stiffened. "But I am seeing things. Someone who looked just like me just went out the main doors." His voice changed to something low hard and clipped. "And the force is with him. The dark side that is. Buffy, guys, go tell Giles that something weird is going on. I need to find out what's going on."

* * *

Lindsey looked out at the crowd and scratched the back of his neck again. That had been a bit odd... he'd had such a strange feeling that something wasn't right. It had only lasted a moment or two, but it had been quite strong for a second. Probably just a moment of stage fright. You never really got rid of it, it was always lurking at the back of your mind. He hefted the acoustic guitar that the helpful kid with the spiky hair had arranged for him and sat down on stage. This was a bit weird, he'd seen a sign on a wall for this and had found his feet taking him in the right direction, why he wasn't sure. Perhaps the chance to sing again. He strummed the guitar gently, plugged it in and leant forwards towards the microphone. "Hi, my name's Lindsey McDonald and this is a song about my city. It's called LA." He started into it.

* * *

Xander shook his head in an attempt to get the cobwebs out of his mind. Everything seemed a bit odd, cloudy. And he had a case of the faint creeping horrors. He'd seen someone who looked just like him. Hell, so had Willow. And this person, whoever he was, had talked about killing her and had stank of the dark side. And had vanished. He'd been looking for ages, combing the streets of Sunnydale. He paused. The chances of this guy turning up on the same night that Amy and that ex-demon turned high school student performing half a spell were just too freaky for words.

Could half a spell have cloned him somehow? But he hadn't been there, so that wasn't possible. Was it? Could it have been a doppelganger? What was going on? He frowned. He wasn't accomplishing much here. Perhaps it might be a good idea to head back to the library and have a word with the Watcher. Perhaps he had worked out what was going on by now.

He turned and walked off in the direction of the school.

* * *

Darth Mortalis looked around the deserted shop and swore angrily. He was exceptionally angry himself now, furious with his lack of progress. The Calender woman's place was for let, standing empty. The Watcher's place was lived in but also empty at the moment, he hadn't felt anyone in it at all. And the costume shop was derelict, windows shattered, doors hanging on their hinges and scraps of dirtied cloth on the floor. No one had been living there for at least a year. Right then, he thought grimly. That just leaves the library in the high school. I should have tried there first. Magic was no match for the dark side. He spun on his heel and strode off.

* * *

Almost everyone was sitting around the table when he reached the library, with a baffled Giles listening to Willow's rambling description of what had happened. From Buffy's bored expression this was not the first time that she'd listened to it. Giles, with Anya and Amy to one side, looked sceptical.

Looking up at the sound of the doors closing, the Watcher brightened slightly. "Ah, Xander. Perhaps you can add to what Willow's been telling me. Apparently you both saw a dark version of yourself at the Bronze, is, ah, is that right?"

"Pretty much. Willow was closer to him than me, but I could detect the dark side in him. By the time I got outside he was gone."

The brought a frown to the Watcher's face. "You couldn't use the force to detect him?"

He shook his head in response. "Giles, a Sith would be able to disguise himself in the force. The dark side can cloud everything sometimes. What about that spell that they were trying?"

"Ah. Well, I've been looking at the book that they used and it does seem to be a standard version of the primary Coven handbook, although it is rather dark and it does seem to be a bit too powerful to use to find something that 'might have fallen down the back of the sofa', to quote what Anya told Amy."

Stirring in her seat the witch blushed. "Hey, I didn't know that she was an ex-demon. You guys should tell people about this kind of stuff." She paused, considering her words. "Only those who know about this kind of stuff, naturally. I didn't have a chance to finish the incantation, but something happened, I think, I had a feeling that some sort of power ran through me when Buffy stopped the show. I just don't know what. I was kinda busy falling over."

The fuzzy feeling was getting stronger as Amy spoke and Xander frowned suddenly. He was really getting an odd feeling in the force now. An echo, as if... He froze. Close. Too close. Damn it, why hadn't he been paying more attention?

"Giles, Buffy, get everyone out of here. Right now."

Blinking, Buffy looked at him. "What's wrong?" she asked sharply.

"Everything's wrong here."

It was his voice. A bit rougher and extremely angry, but it was his voice. And he hadn't opened his mouth. He turned to look at the stairs leading to the shelves. A dark figure was standing there in the shadows, a figure dressed in black. It moved forwards into the light. He heard the scrape of Giles's chair and a stunned "Good Lord!" he heard Willow squeak with surprise and he heard Buffy say a word that her mother would probably be very shocked to hear. He was looking at himself. He was dressed in black and looked as if he had smelt something bad and was frowning massively, but it was him. And he was a Sith.

"Everything's wrong here. No order. People in the wrong place. Some people alive when they should be dead like Willow. No power structure in place, God knows how much time I've wasted here. No Calender. No Rayne. But the Watcher's here. And so am I, that explains Willow's comments earlier on," mused the Sith speaking partly to himself and partly to them. Then he stepped forward, down the steps.

"Buffy, Giles, everyone get out of here now. He's too powerful for you. He's a Sith." said Xander in a level voice, watching the advancing figure. Buffy opened her mouth, no doubt to protest, but then Giles nodded sharply, and put his hand on her shoulder.

"Buffy, this isn't our fight."

"Like hell it isn't!" she burst out. "I'm not going to just stand here and..."

"He has a lightsabre," said Giles heavily. "Buffy, do as Xander says. We have to go."

The Sith reached the bottom of the stairs and stopped. He smiled a twisted smile as he saw the others hurry away to the doors and then dismissed them with a sneer, before starting to walk around Xander. He wasn't going to stay still either, and moved off himself, so that the two force users were walking on opposite sides of a circle, inspecting each other.

Getting his first close view of the Sith version of himself was a shock. It was like looking into a mirror. This is, if he had been awake for a week and a half and then dressed for a funeral. The other him had dark rings under his eyes and a look of towering contempt.

"I can't believe that I became a weak-willed coward of a Jedi," the other him spat as they continued to circle each other.

He smiled bitterly in response. "I can't believe that I became a Sith. Anger management was never that much of an issue in the past. Unless you're just an undisciplined thinker."

The Sith bared his teeth at him. "This world needs order. Discipline." He seemed to think about something that amused him. "You have no idea what's out there, do you, Jedi?"

He tilted his head to one side. "I know enough." Then he gambled: "I know about the Mayor."

This definitely amused the Sith, who barked out a harsh laugh. "The Mayor? Please! Don't tell me you've only just started to work that out! Richard Wilkins and his plans for his Ascension? I destroyed him. I destroyed almost all of them, the vermin that plagued this town for decades under his rule. I beat off Wolfram & Hart and I took over the Initiative. That's going to be easy to do again in this world, once I've killed you and your little friends. Take it over and start my rise back to the stars." He grinned harshly again. "Do you know about the Initiative? The secret base here? Does anything escape those eagle Jedi eyes?"

Base, thought Xander, not letting anything show on his face, base... the army place what that superconductor was headed to? "Yes, I've seen things bound for that," he said, going as far as the Jedi code would allow him to. "Built my lightsabre with parts for that."

An eyebrow went up on the brow of the Sith. "Ooh. Clever. But you will be no match for what's out there. I have the plans for Imperial ships in my head. TIEs, fighter variants, shuttles, Star Destroyers. Ships to defend Earth from the Goa'uld and build a new Empire. What do you have? Plans for lightsabres? Remotes? Jedi Starfighters maybe? Pitiful." The Sith paused. "Time to die, Jedi."

Xander tilted his head. "Are you going to kill Willow again? She mentioned that you mumbled something about you killing her."

A muscle fluttered on the Sith's right eyelid. "She found out that I was using the force after being possessed by Vader. She didn't understand the power of the dark side. She didn't understand the knowledge that I'd gained. She was weak."

"Stronger than you think," said Xander. He nodded at his other self and their lightsabres sprang into their hands and ignited at the same instant. "So am I."

With a blur of motion the Sith brought his blade down and Xander's met it with a crack of energy followed by a buzz as the two power units fought to overcome each other. With an effort Xander heaved up, forcing the Sith back a step and then slashed low to his opponent's right side, only to be met with a parry. The Sith grinned tightly at him. "Not bad, Jedi."

They broke apart and started to circle again, looking for an opening. Moments passed and then Xander leapt, bringing his lightsabre up and around, trying to force an overextended parry, but the Sith met it and matched it with a low hard blow before attacking hard for the first time, unleashing a series of strikes that pressed Xander back a few steps, almost to the staircase leading to the book stacks.

* * *

When the rapid footsteps became audible everyone but Buffy turned to see who was running down the hallway. She was too busy staring through the windows at the fight inside the library, her mouth open in wonder. Then she heard Faith swear and glanced to see her fellow Slayer as wide-eyed as she was.

"Okay, what the hell happened, B?" she said in a strained voice. "I go off to shake my booty at the Bronze, find that message from you there, and now Xander's fighting himself? What gives?"

"It's kinda complicated," said Buffy. Then she blanched. "Get away from the doors!" she screamed and dove sideways, grabbing Willow as she was in the middle of asking why. A split second later a chair traveling at something like 60 miles an hour came crashing through the entrance, shattering one window and splintering into dozens of pieces when it hit the nearest wall.

They all traded glances. "I suggest," said Giles, peering at the shattered door, "That we withdraw to somewhere safer and assess our options."

"But what about Xander?" wailed Willow. "I mean what if Xander kills Xander? Or, or Xander wounds Xander before Xander then kills Xander?"

Giles winced. "I don't think that we have any say on this matter. We need to trust our Xander – the Jedi – to defeat his Sith counterpart. Because if he fails..."

"We'll have to kill him," finished Angel grimly. "I've never seen anything like this."

* * *

Dodging the blade, which went on to shear through the wooden banister behind him, Xander force leapt off to one side, delivering a quick kick to the Sith's chest as he did so that sent the black-clad figure staggering back.

The Sith recovered and came on again, more slowly this time. A vein was pulsing on the side of his forehead and he seemed to be even angrier than before. "I recognise that stance... you've added some refinements but I recognise it... Obi-Wan. You went as stinking Obi-Wan, didn't you? That meddling jealous old fool who wouldn't know talent if it hit him in his face..."

Xander flipped the lightsabre in an ironic salute. "Guilty as charged – Vader. Or should I say Anakin? That's a bad combination of minds in that head of yours. Mine. Whatever the language is for this kind of thing."

The Sith paused and gave another bitter laugh. "Oh no, there'll be no mind games here. I may have the memories of Vader, with a few added bits like a love of power and a desire to grind all Jedi into dust, but Anakin Skywalker doesn't live here. There's just me. And the dark side. You have no idea how powerful this stuff is."

Xander shook his head sadly, memories of a blond boy dressed in his brand new Padawans robes and laughing with joy at his first ever new clothes running through his mind. He was watching his opponent carefully, feeling out with the force for the start of the next attack. "I can't believe that I'd ever dress as Vader on the Hellmouth. Were you stupid or just blind?"

The Sith hissed menacingly. "I had my reasons. And blame your stinking Limey friend out there for not telling anyone about the Hellmouth. I certainly do. Once you're dead, I'll strangle him with his own intestines, followed by Rayne. Where is he by the way?"

This sparked a puzzled frown from Xander. "Ethan Rayne? He's running for his life if he has any sense. Buffy threatened to stick his wand, or whatever he uses, somewhere painful." The frown faded. "And to get to Giles you'll have to get through me, and then Buffy."

"Stupid name. She the blond bitch?"

"She's the Slayer."

"Slayer's a myth," spat the Sith, walking forwards again, "And I'm tired of talking to myself."

With a buzzing crack the two lightsabres clashed again as the Sith launched into a quick attack, changing styles almost between blows to press the Jedi back. Xander absorbed the offensive and then launched his own counterattack, slashing blows that the Sith deflected with a snarl of defiance. They were very evenly matched. Too evenly matched, the last time that he had been this hard pressed was the fight in the desert, and he'd won that one by using his head, not his arms. He needed to... wait a second; there was a tremor in the force...

With barely a split second's worth of warning he spun, sliced the incoming chair in half, dodged the next one, which vanished off towards the main doorway at great speed and then caught the coffee mug with the force when it was inches from his face. Parrying another blow from the Sith with his lightsabre he threw the cup back and added the length of wooden railing that was lying on the stairs from earlier. The Sith swatted both aside with his own lightsabre and then tilted his head. "Not bad," he grudgingly conceded. "For a Jedi."

Strategy, he thought quickly, I need a strategy... and space. Less chance of damage to the library, we need this place. Lure him out of the school and finish him off, the force willing. Anakin never did understand strategy properly, he was too impulsive, and as far as I know Vader was never that innovative. A brilliant starfighter pilot did not necessarily make a good general, or a good admiral. Vader had his flunkies to do the flying – and the dying. And as for the pre-force me, I always thought that a flanking manoeuvre was something that happened in football matches.

"Very poor," he goaded, "For a Sith."

His opponent hissed angrily again at that, the red blade lifting and hammering down in a whirlwind of force and fury. Xander turned slightly but didn't need to fake his backwards movement that much, the Sith was pressing him hard now, looking for an opening that he never found whilst taking the fight to the Jedi. Back he went, using his peripheral vision to make sure that he was heading towards the doors. He just hoped that the others had either retreated somewhere safe or were wise enough to move away as they approached. Pausing to feint with his lightsabre he felt his foot crunch on a piece of shattered glass and he risked a quick glance. Oops, no door. Okay, Snyder was going to be pissed. Better still, no Scooby gang – he could sense Buffy and Faith off to one side, out of sight. That was excellent.

The Sith lashed out again, flowing attacks that he met with as much force as he dared, before he risked a quick counter. An upward stroke that the Sith parried, around to one side, two more quick and hard blows, and then back onto the defensive again. The Sith probed briefly and then tried again, the humming red and blue blades crashing into each other. A locker door was caught by one leading edge and gaped open, sending a cascade of battered books and carefully hidden magazines onto the floor, a concrete post received a slash that left it with a long groove on its edge, a notice board creaked apart and deposited a week's worth of notices in a pile. Boy, Snyder was going to have a field day when he discovered all this damage.

Back further and he could feel the faint rush of air that said that the main door was either open or unlocked. Bad security but good for him at that moment. Another hard clash of lightsabres made him tense as the Sith unloaded a series of blows that he was hard pressed to fend off without revealing that he still had reserves of strength left. The red blade caught a junction box in passing, slicing it in half and severing most of the cables inside. The lights in the ceiling above them blew with a resounding crack of noise and bright sparks, most of them dying and the remaining ones flickering madly. The corridor was now lit by a strange coloured pattern of white flashes interspersed with the red and blue lightsabre glows. Back went Xander, back to the doors and the open air, fighting hard and planning as he went, while a crazed rictus of fury ebbed and flowed on his dark side's face.

* * *

Buffy stared down at the book while Giles flipped pages back and forth whilst mumbling to himself. Then he stopped and jabbed a finger at a part of a page, opposite which was a diagram of an odd pentagram thingy. "Was it this one?"

There was a pause whilst Amy leant over his shoulder. "Yes," she said in a worried voice. "I'd never done it before but it didn't look too hard. Complex but not too bad."

"I don't understand," said her Watcher softly, "This is a spell to bring inanimate objects to the owner. How can it have brought someone from a closed off parallel reality to Sunnydale? It's not possible."

"Looks pretty possible to me," drawled Faith from her spot by the window. "They're outside now and the Jedi just chopped a stop sign in half. Man, they're fast!"

Frowning worriedly Buffy darted to the window. Below the two figures were in a full-on fight, darting and slashing backwards and forwards, one minute the red lightsabre attacking the next minute the blue one. As she watched the figure of the Sith leapt over a parked car, tucked into a tight roll and landed on the other side, the red blade cutting through a street lamp so that it fell towards the good version of Xander. The Jedi dodged quickly, and gestured so that one end of the lamp veered towards the Sith, only to be cut off as if it was made of paper.

"Somehow I don't think that we can help him, do you?" she said to Faith in a very small voice.

The dark-haired Slayer shook her head wordlessly.

"I hate this, I hate it when there's nothing we can do."

"If we go down there, B," muttered Faith, "The only thing we'll do is get our noses cut off. Those two are pedal to the metal and fighting fit to bust a gut."

A high pitched sound started off to one side and after a mutual baffled look with Faith, Buffy finally narrowed it down to the other window where Willow was watching the sound and talking rapidly, without seemingly being able to breathe. "WegottastopthisImeanhe'sbattlinghiumselfandhemighthurthimselfandGileswegottasendtheotherversionofhimbackbecauseSithornotit'sstillXanderandohmygodohmygoddidyouseethatXandermighthavekilledXanderandwhyarethereallthosepurplespotsinmyeyesand..."

"Wills, chill. Take deep breaths," said Buffy worriedly at her hyperventilating friend. "Giles what can we do?"

"Nothing until I work out how this happened and... Oh dear Lord. Amy?"

"Yes Mr Giles?" said the witch, looking worried again.

"How long has your family had this book?"

"It was my Mom's. It was in her family since they came here from Scotland, and before then. Why?"

The Watcher reached down and ran his forefinger down the page join. "Because there's a page missing here. Perhaps two. That's the incantation to find a lost item, yes. But the diagram is for a different spell." He looked at it hard. "A dimensional summoning, I think, I can't be more certain than that. Which explains a great deal."

"Like what, Giles?" she asked, glancing out of the window at the fight below, which was moving in the general direction of one of the cemeteries.

He looked up sharply. "Buffy, spells can be, be complex things. Something said without the right preparation, in the wrong place, at the wrong time, can literally blow up in your face. And this – using the wrong diagram with the right spell – might have started something terrible if you hadn't stopped it. It might have pulled other parts of other worlds into this one. Or it might have pulled Amy and Anya into another dimension. It would be like... baking a cake using the wrong ingredients, or playing Rugby Union by Australian Football rules." She must have had her 'what?' face on, because he sighed and looked around for another phrase. "Imagine... imagine playing tennis, but not realising until the last moment, as you hit the ball, that you're using a baseball bat. Where's the ball going to go?" He shrugged. "Could be anywhere."

"So how do we reverse it?" she asked urgently.

He sagged. "I don't know. I'd need to know what the exact original spell this diagram was for and then reverse-engineer it, so to speak. I don't know where to start. And even if I did find out, it would take some experimentation, which would take time that I don't think that we have."

"Oh for the love of Thor!" said Anya, speaking up for the first time. "I thought that Watchers were big on the occult. Let me see that diagram, I used to be a demon so I think I should be able to work out which..." She looked at it. "Ah. Um. Boy, do I feel stupid now. I'll be over here in the corner being quiet now. No, I don't know what it is."

With a sigh Giles looked back at Buffy. "I'm sorry," he said quietly, "But I think that we're back at our earlier position. Either Xander defeats his Sith counterpart or we, well, finish the job."

She issued her own sigh.

* * *

The two blades met again, buzzing spitefully as they ground against each other and then parted again, to meet again with a crack of energy. Xander took another step back, ignoring the ache of his muscles and the drop of sweat at the end of his nose. The Sith was good, and was also looking as if he was feeling the pace a little as well. But still the eyes blazed and still the mouth sneered. The dark side had his opponent in his grip and it looked as if he still believed that the dark side was stronger than the light side. But it wasn't. Master Yoda's words were as true now as they had been in the past – Obi-Wan's past, that is.

"Easy, the dark side is. Quick. Seductive. Anger it comes from, yes, and hate. Not as deep as the light side, no, roots do not go as deep. Powerful the Sith felt, yes, but did not see, did not understand."

Well now he was fighting a real Sith, one who was every bit as powerful as Darth Maul or Dooku, but who had his face on. Damn, sometimes he really disliked the Hellmouth.

They had fought their way across the road, across part of a park and then into a cemetery, one of the many such places in Sunnydale. And this was where he had planned to open up the fight. It had been close even now. But he had two cards up his sleeve, one that he had been very careful not to show until now and one that the Sith probably suspected. He'd been fighting using the conventional Jedi techniques and he'd been met by the conventional Sith techniques. But there was something extra. _Vaapad_. It was a Jedi technique that had been developed by Jedi Masters Mace Windu and Sora Bulq. It was quick, hard, aggressive, and it could win a fight. But he'd never used it on the Hellmouth so far. It could be too aggressive, it could take you too close to the dark side if you weren't ready for it, if you hadn't emptied your mind of all emotion first, achieved the correct state of balance. And here, away from the school where his friends were, away from anywhere where they could do much damage, he could collect himself and unleash it.

Xander force leapt up off a gravestone, twisted in mid air and landed, collecting himself, his eyes all the time on the Sith, who looked surprised for an instant and then rushed towards him. Up came the blue blade and he slashed hard, once to the left then up and again, hammering hard against the red lightsabre. The Sith's eyes widened and he dug his heels in to meet the attack, but Xander had him off balance now and he pushed his opponent back, the blades whining as they dueled in the place of the unseeing dead.

Another hard attack, moving faster now, losing himself in the grip of the force but retaining enough to keep control of his feelings. No doubt now, no fear, but no exhilaration, no elation at the thought of a victory. He was going to kill a version of himself, like a twin, and that was something to mourn. But still a Sith.

The Sith went backwards faster now, his teeth bared in snarl, gathering himself to leap backwards over the mouth of a sagging grave with a ragged hole by the tombstone, probably the first resting place of a fledgling. "_Vaapad!_" he screamed at Xander as the Jedi leapt over the tomb as well, "You dare to use _Vaapad_ against the man who remembers killing Mace Windu?"

Time for the other card, the one that his Sith counterpart had seen briefly earlier on but not fully understood. He had learnt swordfighting skills from the Watcher as well, skills that he had used, fusing them together with the Jedi skills that had been in his head since Halloween. And now was the best time to put everything into action.

The blue blade hammered hard at the Sith's defences, up, down, across, pushing him away, shaking his senses and crashing into him. His opponent staggered slightly, recovered, and unleashed his own attack, the red blade meeting Xander's with a crack of energy as he attacked. Xander met it, countered it, repulsed it and then attacked again, keeping his mind blank as he delivered a kick to the suddenly off-balance Sith's chest that sent him hurtling back. In mid-air the Sith twisted, one foot connecting with a mausoleum wall, and then he was flying back again, his lightsabre over his head, descending in a blow that should have cut Xander in half or driven him to his knees if the lightsabres had clashed.

But the Jedi wasn't there to meet it – at the last moment he dodged, flying sideways, his feet meeting a gravestone and then coming up from one side and....

The Sith blinked. He was standing but he seemed to sense that something was wrong. Then he raised his arm and looked at the smoking stump where the hand clutching the lightsabre had been. And then he looked down at the blue blade sticking out of his chest. "Damn," he said.

Xander pulled the lightsabre out and the Sith stared at him. "Damn," he said again in a level voice and slowly crashed down to his knees and then pitched forward onto his face, into the grass.

Sighing, Xander deactivated his lightsabre and looked at the Sith. He was still breathing and then, to his amazement, the Sith found the strength to push with his remaining hand and turn himself over onto his back. Emitting a wet cough he looked up at the Jedi.

"Not bad," he wheezed in a weak voice. "Not bad. New... technique?"

Squatting down next to the Sith, Xander quirked a wry smile. "Something I learnt off Giles. Swordplay and Jedi skills. Good combination."

"Innovative... the Watcher... never taught... me..." The dying man's eyes were glazing over now, but he still struggled to speak. "Tell... your... Willow... I'm sorry..." The light in his eyes went out. The head lolled.

"Yeah," said Xander, looking at the man that he might have become, "I will." He looked over at the empty grave. It was time to bury himself, in a manner of speaking.

* * *

When they heard the footsteps they all exchanged worried glances, apart from Anya who seemed to be sulking in a corner. Then he came into view, a tired man dressed in their Xander's clothes and holding a lightsabre in his hand. He stopped and looked at them. "It's me and he's dead," he said in a voice that sounded tired beyond belief. Then he looked at their cautious faces and snapped the lightsabre on. As the blue blade extended and then retracted he laughed softly. "Come on guys, would a Sith have a blue blade?"

Willow stared at his face. Then she relaxed. There were no black circles under his eyes. "It's our Xander," she said, a tear running down her face. "It's him."

Giles walked forwards and looked at him. "Good God man, you look all in. Come on, let's go back to the library. Are you hurt?"

"No. He was good. Real Sith. I used the force to put his body in an empty grave, probably from a fledgling. Couldn't find his lightsabre though. Too dark. We need to search the cemetery over the road tomorrow. Don't want anyone finding that thing." He smiled a painful-looking smile. "It's over guys."

* * *

F'Var walked down the street quickly, making sure that he kept his human face on. The object – he had difficulty in thinking of it using it's true name – was a bulge under his jacket.

The memories of what he had seen that night remained etched in his head, like a film. The two figures fighting, the coloured blades crashing, the sounds, and the impossibility of what he had stumbled upon. And then the end, when one red blade had gone flying off to one side, turning itself off in mid-air and landing not too far away from him, when he had seen what it was...

The hand was in a drain somewhere but he had the... the thing... with him and he knew some people in Los Angeles who would be interested in what he was holding. Very interested indeed.


	21. Watchers And Ceremonies

Okay, I blundered. The beginning of this chapter should have been at the end of the last one. My bad. Thanks to Sepharih for pointing it out. Thanks also to Wendy for betaing and turning my more obvious Britishisms into Americanisms, if such words exist. (Settles glasses on face and tries not to look too Giles-like) Hope you enjoy it and please feed the review monkey on my back! Oh and before anyone asks about the Sith Lightsabre... it's around, hehehe...

* * *

The moon was rising over the clearing as they approached it. It was a cool night and the wind was an intermittent presence on their faces thanks to the trees. Just as well, given their purpose that night. The leading figure was holding a flaming brand in one hand and he paused as he approached the object in the middle of the clearing.

It was built of wooden branches, all lopped off to the same length, a square platform some eight feet long and four feet across. On top of it lay a still figure, dressed all in black. One hand was missing and there were dark shadows under his eyes.

The figure with the brand paused and then thrust the fiery object into a hole in the middle of the platform. There was a slow crackle as the smaller branches inside caught fire, a crackle that spread quickly along the dry wood. Within minutes the platform was alight, enshrouding the dark figure in golden flames that licked at its clothes.

The light caught the different faces of the people standing around the clearing. A short blond girl with eyes that looked older than her years. A tall man with glasses, greying hair and an air of both knowledge and sorrow. A redheaded girl with tears in her eyes for a man that she had never known. A dark-haired girl with a face that combined impatience and regret. A man with red hair and a look of coiled composure. A dark-haired man whose face hid shadows and longing. And finally the figure of the man who had been holding the brand. Dark-haired, with a look of regretful acceptance and a silver cylinder clipped to his belt.

The flames roared upwards, taking their burden into the night sky. For a moment it seemed as if the shadows on the face of the figure on the platform had lifted.

* * *

The security guard nodded at Lindsey as the lawyer entered the building and muttered a cordial "Good Morning, Mr McDonald." He nodded back with a smile and asked about how young Becky had done in the judo contest. The guard grinned quickly and muttered that his daughter had wiped the floor with the other brats.

He smiled inwardly as he walked through the foyer and up to the elevators. The lawyer had always taken the trouble to keep on the right side of the more important flunkies in the building, as well as some of the others. You never knew when you might need them. So, he'd made sure that he knew the name of Ted, or Steve, or Phil. He remembered their birthdays, when their partners' birthdays were, what their kids names were, what they did. It all added up to a little ledger of plus emotion, in case of... well, he didn't like to think of the possible downside of parting company from Wolfram & Hart. Lilah never bothered, but then Lilah could be the most arrogant bitch on the face of the planet at times.

Entering one of the elevators he pressed the right button for his floor, nodded at Todd from Unnatural Blessings, smiled at Mary from Patent Theft and hummed a few bars of LA. Damn, that had been something else. He'd got that club in Sunnydale rocking. LA, followed by Sledgehammer. It had been almost enough to get rid of that odd feeling in the back of his head.

The elevator dinged, the doors opened at his floor and he stepped out, walking down the corridor. Something appeared to have died in Peterson's office and there were more odd marks on the walls of Jo van der Klerk's office. Same old stuff then. A day away was... he paused and looked into Lilah's office. She was sitting at her desk and directing a glare at him that could have melted lead. A large set of files were piled around her. He smiled, waved, watched the glare get hot enough to punch a hole through a diamond and walked on. Life was sweet sometimes.

Then he frowned. Ah. Yes, he had that damn meeting to talk about Sunnydale and the Arrangement with Wilkins. His hunch was still there. Wilkins was hiding something and he had to explain that all to Holland. Which wouldn't be easy.

Opening the door to his office he strode in, sat down at his desk and booted up his computer. His phone said that he had fifteen messages on voicemail and he sighed as he pulled out a self-propelled pencil from his pocket and pulled forward a fresh pad. He burnt his notes whenever he could – Lilah was very good at reading the impressions on used pads. Lilah. Always snapping at his heels. He leant forwards and pressed play to hear the litany of complaints that were bound to be on the phone system. Then he made a mental note to find out as much as possible on one Alexander Harris, resident of Sunnydale.

* * *

The document was large. It had seals in the right places for a Watcher, and a senior one at that, and was rather impressive, Wesley had to admit. He scanned it once quickly and then went through it again more slowly. Then he lifted it to the light and checked the watermark on the last page.

Someone snorted behind him and he made an effort not to glare at the other man in the room, who had been looking at him with complete indifference that bordered on the damned insolent.

"Yes, well," said the Watcher after a moment's thought, "I think that this is all in order. You may collect the things detailed in the Will."

"Oh joy," said the other man with extreme sarcasm. "Thank you. I'd be out of here by now if you hadn't come along with your diligent nosiness."

Wesley lifted an eyebrow and attempted to sneer. He was well aware that he wasn't terribly good at it. He was also well aware that he was not a little apprehensive of the other man, who had a way of flaring his nose and looking intensely angry that was really quite impressive. It reminded him of his father. He was also aware of the other man's nationality.

"I am a member of the Watcher's Council, here to collect her possessions," he said eventually."

"You told me that when you arrived, you don't have to bloody repeat yourself," the man said in a singsong accent as he walked across the room to pick up the carefully packed box of magical implements. Then he paused and knelt down next to the desk to do up a loose shoelace.

As Wesley turned his back on the rude Welshman he missed the sight of the man stopping dead and than reaching out to pull a long envelope from out of the shadows under the desk. Glancing at it and then stealing a quick glance at the Watcher, he placed it in a pocket and then strode from the room.

* * *

It was an impressively large pile of paper, thought Giles as he stared at the stacks on the table that he had assembled in the week following the Night of the Fight as Buffy and Faith had named it. If all the paper was stacked together then it might have been taller than Buffy. And it was all so varied. Histories of Sunnydale, one written by someone whose name just happened to be an anagram of Richard Wilkins, information on planning permission for umpteen underground tunnels, ostensibly for utilities like gas, power and water, that had all been approved by the mayor, the list just went on and on. A copy of an age-yellowed deed granting the land around a small village to one R. Wilkins that Willow had spotted in the civic archives. A newspaper headline proclaiming that Sunnydale had the first electric lights in the state, a great novelty and proof of Mayor Wilkins' forward thinking as the twentieth century dawned, and other such fawning rot.

It was all… rather vexing. They had all this evidence but somehow it had escaped their notice the first time around. It wasn't as if they had had to dig very hard either. The interesting thing was that they had simply assumed that Sunnydale was being run by a dynasty, instead of the truth, and that smacked of some form of spell.

Giles rose from his chair and wandered into the office, where he grabbed the kettle, filled it from the tap and then plugged it in, operating purely on automatic pilot. Wilkins had planned the place out. Wilkins had approved everything to do with the infrastructure of Sunnydale. But why? He was more than a hundred years old and that meant that he probably had ties to magic, the darkest magic if he was right. To prolong a life that far meant that he must have given something up, or promised something, so was there a mystical reason for everything?

And then there was Xander's Sith counterpart. The Jedi had mentioned that his opponent had said that he had dealt with the Mayor's plans for ascension. Ascension to what? From what? By what means?

The kettle boiled and Giles reached out to pick up his favourite mug, the one that he used when he needed to think. It had an E.H. Shepard picture of Owl, or rather Wol, on one side, with the inscription "HIPY PAPY BTHUTHDTH THUTHDA BTHUTHDY" on the other. Buffy and the others had never made the correct connection, due to the pernicious influence of Walt bloody Disney. Spooning some instant coffee in, he added the water, poured some milk in and wandered out again, still operating on automatic pilot. What was an ascension? Something was niggling at the back of his mind, something that he had read a long time ago. Something that for some reason kept jabbing at the guilt he was feeling about the Cruciamentum that he had to organise for Buffy next week.

He hated that damn ritual. It was archaic, nonsensical and downright barbaric. A Watcher should be the one to determine if a Slayer was clever and quick-witted enough to survive in the world, not this damn test. If he had his way – and God knew he'd talked about it with other young watchers – then he'd abolish the bloody thing no matter what the high-ups on the Council said.

"Cold-hearted bastards," he muttered out loud and took a swig of coffee.

"Talking to yourself again, Rupert?" said a Welsh voice from behind him and he jumped. Turning he saw a medium-sized balding man dressed in black, with a sardonic grin on his face and a bag slung over one shoulder.

"Good God," said the astonished Watcher. "Tom. What in heavens name…"

Hoisting the bag on his shoulder the man in black sniffed the air appreciatively. "Ah, coffee. Some things never change, there's caffeine always somewhere around you. You can join in this conversation any time now you know Rupert."

Giles put the coffee down on the table with a laugh and then moved over to grab his old friend's hand in a firm handshake. "My God Tom, whatever are you doing here?"

"Can't a man visit a mate and former boss?" He looked at the coffee cup. "Got any more of that?"

"Of course, come through into my office," said Giles, smiling thoughtfully. "Although I must say that you wouldn't fly umpteen thousand miles just to see me."

Tom put on a look of fake offence. "You wound me." Then he pulled a face. "Actually, I come bearing gifts from a late friend of yours. Isobel Horrocks."

"Ah," said Giles sadly as they walked into the office. "I didn't know that you knew her." He refilled the kettle and turned it on again.

"I didn't," came the reply as the Welshman sat down with a sigh of relief onto a chair. "But she left very clear instructions with her lawyer in London that in the event of her death Room 42 was to be alerted. She was apparently very careful with some of the more… interesting items in her possession. I was going to leave it to someone else, or even wait for the Council itself to take care of it, but I bumped into old Don Camillo coming out of Westminster Cathedral. He'd been conducting a Mass there and he told me that he'd seen you in California, so I decided to make a round trip. God, those airline seats do terrible things to your backside. I think I've sprained a buttock."

Spooning some coffee into a spare mug and adding the now boiling water Giles paused. "What kind of items?" he asked as he passed over the mug and the milk.

Tom paused, poured a generous splash of milk into the mug, stirred it vigorously and then threw about half of it down his throat. "That's better." He looked up. "Oh, there was an Orb of Divination, a copy of the Prophecies of the Elder Seers and a Stone of Healing. Just the kind of things that you wouldn't want floating around on the antiques market. There was also a load of standard Watcher's Council books and weapons, which a very officious English git from the Watchers Council, called Wesley Wyndham-Price, bundled up when he arrived an hour after me.

"He was very sniffy until I showed him my British Museum pass and even then he was pompousness personified. Wanted to know why I was there as well, so I shoved Mrs Horrocks' Will under his nose and got on with the job. I came very close to losing my temper with the sais mochyn(), to tell you the truth, but I remembered how we should always be kind to the soft in the head and our cousins on the Council." He grinned sardonically. "Present company excepted, of course."

Giles raised an eyebrow. "Wyndam-Price… good God, is that boy old enough now? I suppose he must be. I have a vague memory of the most irritating little… well, I shouldn't speak ill of a fellow Watcher." He looked over at Tom. "Still, there couldn't have been that much to pack off to London, could there? And you said you had something for me from her?"

The Welshman nodded and pulled his bag up to open it. After a brief moment of searching he pulled out a small leather-clad book that had an envelope inside it. He passed it over. "She said that in the event of her death her Slayer was to have it."

Opening the book carefully Giles flipped through it, smiling sadly. Yes, just like old Isobel. The personal touch from beyond the grave. Then he saw the envelope, noted the name on the front, nodded sharply and placed it to one side. "I'll hand it over to Faith later," he said is a rough voice.

"I remember you talking about her once," said Tom softly in the brief silence that followed.

"She was very close to my mother," he replied quietly. "They grew up together."

Tom nodded and then reached into an inside pocket of his jacket. "And there was this," he said, pulling out another envelope.

The moment Giles saw it his heart almost stopped. Automatically his hand went out to take it. It was long envelope made of a rich creamy paper that screamed quality. It had been sealed with red wax on the back, with an imprint of the Horrocks crest visible on the seal. On the front in Isobel's characteristically precise handwriting were written the words: "Rupert Giles, Watcher to the Slayer Buffy Summers. Urgent Delivery. Council Business." In very small letters in the bottom right hand corner was a small symbol.

"I almost didn't spot it," said Tom. "The damn thing had slipped off her desk onto the floor and was almost hidden by the sideboard." He looked at the Watcher. "Rupert, are you alright? You've gone white as a sheet."

"Its… um, the envelope. She only ever used it when she had something of vital importance to pass on. It's the Council equivalent of red flashing lights and a siren. It means either a warning, or trouble, or both."

He took a deep breath, broke the seal with a sharp 'crack' of noise and pulled out the contents of the envelope, three sheets of very fine quality paper that were covered in writing. "Excuse me while I read this," he apologised and started at page one.

By the time he had finished the last page he was feeling more relaxed than he had been in weeks. He had been right! All his damn doubts – he'd been sharing them with Isobel Horrocks, who with her customary clear thinking and insight, had seen through the whole issue far more clearly and logically than he had.

He looked up to see Tom looking at him worriedly. "It's alright," he said to his old friend, "No potential disaster to avert. Well, not in so many words. Just a confirmation about something that was worrying me a, a great deal."

The other man nodded slowly. Then he held out his mug. "More coffee?"

"Of course," said the Watcher, standing and walking over to the kettle. "When are you flying back?"

"I'm on the 2pm from LAX tomorrow," came the reply. "I found a hotel not too far away from the bus station. And don't worry, I've cast a vampire-repelling spell on my room already. I know the reputation that this place has."

As Giles chuckled he heard a voice in the library calling his name. "In here," he answered, and a moment later Buffy walked into the office.

"Hi, Giles whatcha doing?" she said and then caught sight of his rather rumpled fellow Briton. "Oh, sorry, I didn't know you had company."

"Buffy, I want you meet an old friend of mine, Tom Davies. We used to work together at the British Museum."

Tom stood up and held his hand out; Buffy shook it and the man winced slightly.

"Sorry," said Buffy apologetically, "Don't know my own strength sometimes."

"That's alright," replied Tom, massaging his hand gently, "Slayer-strength and everything."

The Slayer turned to Giles and raised her eyebrows. "Whatever happened to 'secret identity'?"

"Buffy, Tom knows all about the supernatural, vampires, demons, the whole thing. He works for Room 42 at the museum."

A furrow appeared on the Slayer's forehead. "I've heard that name before. Didn't you mention it when we had that whole my-mom's-mask-is-raising-the-dead thing? You know, the Mask of Oolong."

Both Giles and Tom winced. "The Mask of Ovu Moboni, Buffy. Um, well, it's interesting."

She sighed. "Interesting Watcher-style, or Slayer-style?"

Coughing significantly, Tom broke in. "As I'm neither, perhaps I can explain while Giles makes me some more coffee?"

As Giles filled the kettle yet again he heard Tom sit back down in his seat.

"Right," said the Welshman, "Long version or short version?"

"What's the short version," asked Buffy.

"There's a lot of freaky stuff out there."

"Okay, a leettle too short. Long version?"

"Right. In the nineteenth century, archaeology became extremely popular, mostly because it was fashionable. It was cool to have lots of artifacts around the house and impress the neighbours, who probably couldn't tell the difference between Samianware and something their kids knocked together at school. At the same time a large number of discoveries were being made in the Middle East, in Mesopotamia – where Iraq is now – lost cities like Nineveh were being found and even more artifacts were being unearthed and sent back to Britain."

He sighed. "Most of them were harmless, but some of them were, well, magical. And dangerous, potentially at least. They all had to be inspected, tagged, sorted out and stored. And the dangerous ones had to be studied carefully and then locked away in case of accidents that might have raised the dead or turned London into a smoking hole in the ground."

Buffy winced. "I can understand that. All the freaky orbs and gauntlets and shiny kablooie things here on the Hellmouth has made me really cautious when it comes to buying jewelry." She looked over at Giles. "So why didn't the Watchers' Council take over? They're the guys with the research mojo, aren't they?"

"Well, at, at first they did Buffy," said Giles as he handed another mug of coffee over to Tom who chugged a large amount. "The problem was that there were thousands of artifacts coming in every year, sometimes every month, and there were only a limited number of Watchers. Plus, they had other priorities, like doing their best to keep the Slayer of the time alive and unharmed."

"After a number of interesting incidents, including one that involved a Greek vase, a prostitute, a pendant charmed by Aphrodite and a member of the Royal Family, which fortunately was never reported by the papers as it would have made the German idiot a laughing stock, the Government of the time stepped in and ordered action," continued Tom.

"The Home Secretary – the equivalent of your Secretary of the Interior – told the British Museum to set up a special task force to examine any artifact that would go on display at the Museum, along with a roving brief to inspect dig sites and collections as it saw fit. The Watchers Council protested, as it thought that the Museum would be poaching on its territory, but soon realised that there were too many objects for it to oversee. Besides, they thought that a good way of exercising at least some form of control would be to co-operate by sending trained Watchers to join the new department, which was housed in Room 42 at the Museum. Hence the name," he said presenting his card to her with a flourish.

"So, we at Room 42 have been carrying out our duties for 150 years now and there's no chance of running out of artifacts. The bloody things are probably breeding behind our backs."

"And Giles used to work with you," said Buffy thoughtfully. "Nice card, very embossedy, if that is a word. Bad Giles, why didn't you tell us what you did at the British Museum? We all thought you were all dark and brooding when you were younger."

Peering over the top of his glasses at her, Giles raised an eyebrow. "This was only about six years ago Buffy. The Council made no objection to me applying for a job at Room 42 and I spent almost four years there, investigating, researching and occasionally smiting things. Tom joined about a year and a half before you were called and we stayed in touch after I left to replace Merrick."

A wolfish grin appeared on the Welshman's face. "We knocked some of the Council's stuffiness out of him. We're a much more informal bunch."

This seemed to surprise Buffy. "I thought all Englishmen were, well, a bit stuffy."

Giles winced. 'Ware storms, he thought. Never call Welshman English.

But Tom seemed to have either mellowed or at least realised that Yanks could be a little general in their language sometimes. "I'm Welsh, Ms Summers," he said, grinning, "We live to tease the English. When we aren't insulting them that is."

"Oh. Sorry, no offence. I think my dad's grandfather was Welsh. And it's Buffy. I hear 'Ms Summers' and I look around to see who they're talking to."

"My apologies. Well, Buffy, Rupert here was very stuffy indeed at first, but we sanded some of the corners off him. Took a lot of beer, and in one case tequila, but we did it."

"Oooh," said Buffy, pulling up a chair. "I sense embarrassing stories about Mr. Formally Stuffy English Watcher!"

Giles rolled his eyes. He should have expected this. As he listened with a grimace on his face his eyes turned to the phone. As soon as Buffy was out of the way he needed to make a call.

* * *

With a sigh and a pause to rub his aching back Quentin Travers looked down at the pictures of the various houses that were on offer in Sunnydale. They needed the right one for the ceremony, one that offered just the right atmosphere along with sufficient space for Ms. Summers to plan whatever she was going to plan. It was important to get it right.

He felt something shift under his shirt and he automatically raised a hand to touch the reassuring weight of the medallion hanging around his neck. It wasn't really compulsory – the ring of the Chief Watcher was the symbol of his position – but he always wore the old medallion of a Watcher. In the old days it had been the only way of identifying a Watcher. The wearing of the medallion had gone out of practice during the War, when a number of trained Watchers had been serving with the Armed Forces, and where people would have asked far too many questions about them if the silver and gold discs had been seen. After 1945 the practice had, well, never been resumed. Except for in his case. Tradition was important. The old ways were there for a reason. Admittedly those reasons could be harsh, but sometimes they were necessary.

The Cruciamentum was also harsh but necessary. They had know, they had to be sure that the Slayer was not just strong but intelligent and cunning. The fight against evil wasn't just a matter of strength. Evil could also be clever and cunning and the Slayer had to match that. Match it and trump it.

He heard the sound of the phone ringing next door and waited for his aide Griffiths to answer it. There was a rumble of conversation and then Griffiths knocked politely on the door.

"Come in," said Quentin shortly.

"Sir, Rupert Giles has just called. He wants to meet you as soon as possible. He said that it's very urgent and that it's about the Cruciamentum."

Quentin sighed. He was starting to have his doubts about Giles. Perhaps it was the fact that he'd been in California for almost three years, but the man was showing signs of weakness. Granted, every Watcher had to be close to their Slayer to give the right advice and guide them on the path. It was important not to get too close however, and start losing one focus.

"Very well," he sighed, "Tell him to meet me here in an hour."

* * *

Pulling the wool over Lilah's eyes was never easy. You had to have a poker face and nerves made of damn steel. You had to be able to pass on the bare minimum of information and at the same time sniff out as much as possible. It could be done, it was just that it was never easy.

Laying a false trail that would divert her wasn't easy either. There were times that he felt more like a spy or an intelligence agent that damn lawyer.

That brought on a moment's pause as Lindsey leant back in his chair and grinned at the opposite wall and thought about the most ghoulish false trail ever, one that even Wolfram & Hart would have been proud to call its own. Operation Mincemeat.

He had loved Operation Mincemeat from the moment he had first read about it in a history book as a kid. The Allies were planning the invasion of Sicily, which was the most obvious place for them to attack once North Africa had been seized. The problem was, how to make the Germans think that they were going somewhere else? Like Sardinia instead?

It was subtle: two British intelligence agents with a flair for the imagination and the macabre had hit upon a great plan. The body of a Royal Marine officer with secret documents in a briefcase that had been handcuffed to one hand had been found washed up on a beach of the coast of Spain, a company that was friendly to old toothbrush moustache. The documents indicated an attack against Sardinia. The Major seemed genuine, he had a letter from his father on him, theatre ticket stubs, a warning from his bank manager and a love note from his fiancée.

The Nazis, who were about as subtle as a hammer, had fallen for it like a ton of bricks.

But now he had to do something similar. He had to disguise his true intentions with a feint, a feint that had to be believable. He paused as he pulled his keyboard towards him and then grinned savagely.

He wrote two emails. One went to a contact of his who, he knew, also worked for Lilah when he knew what was good for him. It asked for all the information that could be collected on the Halliwell sisters in San Francisco. Lilah would go for that one like a barracuda after a pound of bait. She was incredibly touchy about her two failures there – and he suspected that there were several undisclosed failures as well. Lilah tended to worry away at something like that for ages, reinforcing failure.

The other was to the research department, asking for all the information there was about the Hellmouth in Wolverhampton, in Britain. It was only a small one, but it was still there. That was the other decoy. That would, eventually, get back to Lilah as well and make her wonder what was there to make him investigate it. Hopefully she would think that was the limit of his own subtlety, trying to distract her from the real thing.

He stood up and opened his door to the corridor carefully to make sure it was empty. Then he slipped out. He had some people to see. Discreet people, who he employed to find out things without Wolfram & Hart – and Lilah – ever knowing about it.

* * *

"Ah, Mr Giles, how are you?" Quentin grasped the other man's hand firmly in a brisk shake. Giles looked tanned, no difficult thing in this climate. "You said that wanted to talk about the coming Cruciamentum ceremony for Ms Summers."

Giles smiled thinly at him. "Yes, sir. I think that Mrs Horrocks can put it far better than I can."

He frowned. "I fail to see how, as she's dead."

"Yes, but in a way her words live on. I received a letter today that she had written to me before her death. A letter that I must say that I fully agree with." Reaching into the side pocket of his suit he pulled out an expensive-looking envelope.

Reaching out Quentin took it, noted the broken seal and pulled out the letter, pulling his glasses out as he did so. Slipping them on he unfolded the creamy paper and started to read.

_My dear Rupert._

_I am writing this letter to set out certain thoughts, and also because I have had a presentiment of my own death. Please therefore pass this letter on to Quentin Travers_ – there seemed to be a small squiggle next to his name, as if Mrs Horrocks had rested her pen there for a moment – _and the Watchers Council as soon as you receive it._

_I am writing this because I have come to the conclusion that the Cruciamentum ceremony must, under no circumstances, be carried out on my charge, Faith. There are a number of reasons for this, the most important of which is the fact that I do not think that it would be wise to abuse her trust in such a manner._

_Faith has had a difficult life to this point, in which people have repeatedly let her down and at times betrayed her trust. The frequent absence of her mother has led to certain problems regarding her feeling of self-worth. Had she come from a more stable background, or had she been spotted and trained by the Council before she was called as a Slayer, then this issue would no longer be relevant. The fact remains, however, that she would regard the Cruciamentum as a betrayal by her Watcher, at the cost of endangering the trust that I have been able to build up between us._

_Trust is vital in this instance. I am aware that the Cruciamentum is an ancient ritual_ – another squiggle – _but I feel that my assessment of Faith's abilities outweighs it. Faith can be difficult – she has been headstrong and at times reckless – but she is also intelligent, resourceful and adapts quickly to new scenarios. She is also a child of her time, an American child, and I feel that the Council's traditional approach must be tempered with more compassion and understanding. After I met her for the first time I realised that the traditional approach to training would be wrong for Faith. Each Slayer cannot be said to be stamped from the same metal. Instead, each one is unique._

_We also live in unique times – it has two Slayers. Although I have a limited understanding of the history of Ms Summers, I note that she too is a child of a broken home, who was not spotted as a Potential and who was not trained until she was 15. Rupert, you must decide if she must undergo the Ritual, but I must point out that even if you feel that her circumstances are different from those of Faith, to withhold the Ritual from one but not the other would be wrong._

_I realise that the view of one Watcher can be voted down. However, as laid down in the Watcher's Laws_ – yet another squiggle – _the views of two Watchers of successive or even concurrent Slayers are binding when it comes to circumstances where they are certain that the health, whether mental or physical, of their Slayer is in danger. I feel strongly about this point and do so inform the Council._

_Goodbye, Rupert,_

_Yours, with sincere affection,_

_Isobel Horrocks_

There was yet another squiggle just under her signature.

Quentin looked at the letter again, levelly. Then he carefully folded it up and replaced it into the envelope. "I see," he said, thinking about that other letter that had been sent on by Merrick. "Then as you said, you concur with her assessment?"

"Yes, sir," said Giles. "And I have written to the Council to say so formally. In my view Buffy Summers is cunning and intelligent enough not to need the proof of the Cruciamentum. And I feel that the very fact that she has survived to the age of 18 is proof enough of her abilities. Mrs Horrocks was also right in thinking that it would be a gross breach of trust to inflict the ceremony on Buffy or Faith."

'Inflict'? Buffy and Faith? The bloody man had gone native over here. It was always a risk, but the horrible thing was that Horrocks had been right. There was nothing he could do if two successive or concurrent Watchers of Slayers recommended that something be continued – or abandoned. Bloody hell.

He had the distinct feeling that the ground was being cut away from under him for a moment and forced down his rising anger. The Cruciamentum may not have been the most pleasant of tests but it was traditional. It allowed the Slayer a means of proving herself in a way that could never be questioned by the Council again. It was more than a test, it was a validation of Slayership itself and a tie to the ordinary humanity that the Slayer was sworn to protect and which she was briefly reminded of. The Council had its reasons for creating the test and to have it stopped now, like this...

Quentin drew a deep breath and made up his mind on a number of things almost simultaneously. First things first, he turned back to the waiting Giles. The bloody woman had been right after all, Council Law was strict about that.

"Very well, Mr Giles, as Mrs Horrocks stated so clearly in her letter, the recommendations of two consecutive Watchers is binding. The Cruciamentum ceremony for both Slayers is hereby cancelled. I will add that it is over my own objections, but my hands," he handed back the letter, "Are tied." And you will not hear the last of this, he thought.

Giles nodded politely and walked off. He'd almost made it to the door when Quentin cleared his throat. "Oh, Mr Giles, before I forget. A replacement Watcher has been selected for Ms Morgan, as you have been having to fill in for Mrs Horrocks." It wasn't really a lie, he'd been thinking about the new Watcher for a while, but the final selection had yet to be made. Now, in the privacy of his own head, he had decided.

"He should be here in Sunnydale within a few days to take over and allow you to concentrate on training Ms Summers."

Raising an eyebrow Giles nodded again. "May I ask who he is?"

Quentin bared his teeth in what hopefully looked like a smile. "No you may not. Goodbye, Mr Giles."

"Goodbye, sir," replied Giles and he slipped out of the door.

Returning to the window Quentin stared out of the window and practiced under his breath some interesting swear words that he had once heard a Gurkha officer once pronounce in Indonesia in the 1960s.

After a moment there was a soft knock and Griffiths entered the room. "Did the meeting go well, sir?"

"No," he said tightly. "On the recommendation of Mr Giles and Mrs Horrocks the Cruciamentum is cancelled. Mrs Horrocks wrote to him before her death and I fear that the letter is authentic."

"I see," said Griffiths, obviously choosing his words carefully. The fool probably didn't, he was too young, unable to see the rest of the chessboard, unable to see beyond the first few moves of the game beyond a few pawns moving around.

Well, it was time to take on more of what the Americans called a 'hands-on' approach. To seize the initiative from a foolish Watcher who had gone native and a dead Watcher who must have had her wits addled by the plane journey over.

"Griffiths, I have a job for you. Two jobs actually. I want you to contact Wesley Wyndham-Price at once and tell him to contact me at once. He is to be the new Watcher for Faith Morgan." Wesley was young enough to build up some form of bond with the Morgan girl and fresh enough from the Council training program to be relied upon not to go native. She, at least, could be redeemed hopefully.

"And secondly get in touch with Latimer and tell him that his proposals for expanding the search for Potentials are approved."

The next Slayer was going to be council trained from infancy if need be and was going to undergo the Cruciamentum even if he had to come out of retirement to approve it. Traditions were important. They had to have confidence in the Slayers. The world rested in their hands.

* * *

Giles looked into the rearview mirror one last time as he drove away from the house. Really, Quentin Travers was such a predictable man. A great planner and steeped in the history of the Watchers Council, but a little too hidebound sometimes. He thought back to the letter and chuckled.

When Isobel Horrocks and his mother had been in school together they had developed a little code of their own, a code that they had shared with his father (who had loved it, the devious sod) and eventually himself. It was based on symbols that took the place of phrases. It wasn't exactly flexible, but it was good enough to pass on what they thought about certain matters and certain people.

He glanced at the envelope, which Travers had never really looked at. The symbol under his own name meant: "As he can be trusted to make sure that this is delivered."

As for the others... well the one under Travers' name meant 'inflexible pillock'. The one next to the words 'ancient ritual' meant 'useless piece of cruel mumbo-jumbo', while the one by the mention of the Council's Laws meant 'these can occasionally be useful.' The final one, under her signature, meant 'Wol', the nickname that he had always known her as.

He smiled. He almost felt like singing. Then he remembered the business with the Mayor. Perhaps a brisk hum instead? And of course today was Faith's birthday.

* * *

The moon was rising over Sunnydale, a pale crescent of light that barely penetrated the streetlights. On the flat roof of the chemical lab of the High School a dark-haired figure was sitting on the parapet, her back to the wall and her attention on the things in her lap.

Faith was feeling totally freaked out now. After the previous night's ceremony thing tonight she'd been hanging with the crowd at Casa Summers, waiting for Mrs Summers to unveil her latest batch of nachos, which were always wicked cool. She liked Joyce, she reminded her of old Horry, her dead Watcher. Giles, B, the Jedi, Willow and Jedi Oz had all been there, talking about stuff and laughing. She liked it there, she felt almost... well, there was a comfortable feeling there. Giles had been doing more one-on-one training with her recently and they had discovered that her spot-the-vampire skills were 'slightly more acute' than Buffy's, which was the Brit's way of saying that she could sniff 'em out something like a second faster. Not much, but you needed every edge you could get in the fight against the vamps.

Joyce had slipped out for the nachos and then suddenly the room had gone totally dark and somekinda flickery light was out in the hall. Going on instinct Faith had leapt to her feet and pulled out her best stake, ready for the off, but then the door had opened and Mrs Summers had been standing there, her face lit by candles. Candles on a cake. A cake that had said: Happy Birthday Faith.

Totally bewildered and wondering how the hell they'd known, Faith had dropped the stake in embarrassment, especially when they sang Happy Birthday and asked her to blow out the candles. Feeling like she was back at freaking kindergarten she'd blown them all out and then almost physically cringed at the memories.

She'd given up celebrating her birthdays. Various loser boyfriends had tried – one had gotten them both tickets to hear some skanky band murder a number of good songs, another had taken her to a party where he'd drunk too much punch, thrown up in her leather jacket and passed out on her on the ride home. He'd been driving as well. And before that... well, this was where things got bad. Her mom had vaguely remembered a couple of times, but had been too busy trying to make sure that the man in her life at the time wasn't out screwing some barmaid on the side. Or she'd been away in jail, having been persuaded to 'help out' by the losers she was dating. Mom. Good old friendly mom, always terrified about spending the rest of her life alone.

But the minute she'd seen that birthday cake another memory had come back, one of her when she was very young, no more than three or four... of sitting in a chair in a house somewhere, dressed in a pink dress, watching in awe as a birthday cake was carried towards her by a tall man, an old guy, in his eighties but still tall, with an old woman next to him and her Mom somewhere in the background, all smiling... being told to blow the candles out, and when she did the old couple applauded like crazy. Her grandparents. They'd died just a few years later and then her mom had started her slow slide downhill but that memory had bubbled up in her mind the moment she saw Joyce Summers and that cake.

But that wasn't it, because there had been gifts, and apart from half a bottle of vodka and a dribbly kiss two years ago from ol' whatisname, she couldn't remember the last time that had happened. And as for the gifts... Giles had given her a stake – only this was one he'd made himself out of some dark heavy wood she'd never seen before, like mahogany. It was the perfect weight, every bit as good as Mister Pointy and it was wicked sharp. The guy must have spent hours on it.

B's gift had been cool as well. It was a knife, something long and curved and with the kind of craftsmanship that said that it would cut through anything. B had said that she'd take the rap for the howl of pain that the Watcher's Council would let out once they saw the bill she'd forwarded to them, but tough. She hadn't tested the edge yet because she wanted all her fingers to stay on. And Jedi Oz had made her a sheath for it – they'd said that the one that came with the knife was crap. So now the knife was tucked into a snug leather holder that went around her hips and rested there with a comforting weight.

As for Red, she'd produced a little rock that had been enchanted to glow whenever vamps were around. That meant it would probably glow 24/7 in parts of Sunnydale, but hey another seconds warning was all it took sometimes. Apparently it wasn't perfect – Red had told her that for some reason it also glowed whenever The Sound Of Music was on any TV closer than ten feet away, which was freaky – but it was still cool.

The Jedi had surprised her with his gift. Although she would have loved a lightsabre she was also a bit apprehensive of the things now that she had seen what a bad guy could do with them. Apparently that Snyder dork had pitched a fit at all the damage, but the school board had okayed the repairs snake fast. No, Xander had handed over a small box – containing his crucifix, the one that the Church had given him, according to Giles. It was solid silver and utterly beautiful and hell, it was old, 300 years at least. When she'd stammered out a question he'd said that it was better off in the hands of someone who needed it more than he did. She had her doubts about that – Jedi or not he was still vulnerable if his lightsabre ever blew a fuse – but it seemed to be a Jedi thing because she'd seen Oz frown and then nod hard.

Mrs Summers had given her a very motherly hug, which was ok, and then a pair of the coolest boots she'd ever seen in her life, which was more than ok. Plus the nachos, which were up to her usual standard.

And then Giles had produced the last gift. A small book, which she'd taken with a frown and a smile, until she saw the envelope tucked inside it and seen the handwriting. Horry's handwriting. Inside the envelope was a handmade birthday card, with a little pen and ink picture of her own face. Horry had been a hell of an artist for an old chick. Inside it said simply: "To Faith. Hoping that your birthday finds you well and slaying". Opening the book to the title page, she saw the inscription. "Faith. The official Watcher's Manual can be pompous, so here's one more to your style. Isobel Horrocks."

It was the Watcher's Manual, but it was rewritten in Horry's handwriting, with quotes and stories from past Watchers and jokes and little cartoons that Horry had drawn. Faith hitting her first vampire kill with part of a picket fence. Faith blowing up that Targenn demon by mistake. Things that made her grin and then think of Horry.

She'd handled it as long as she could and then made her escape, making for the roof. And now something wet kept going wrong with her eyes and she was not a girl who ever cried, come on she was tougher than that. She was a Slayer, Slayer of vampires, ass-kicker of demons. She was someone who gave Death the finger and then kicked him in the nuts.

She shook her head for a second because for an instant she could have heard someone say KICK ME IN THE WHAT?

Then she looked back down at the gifts and then out over Sunnydale. It was dumb to be feeling like this over something so equally dumb as a birthday. Come on! But they'd made the effort, which was a damn sight more than most people had. And Horry... Giles had said that she must have taken ages over the book. She must have been planning it for months. From what he had said about her, smiling that quirky smile, he had known her very well. It was odd sometimes to think that others must have mourned Horry as much as she had. She looked down again and a tear rolled down her nose and fell off. Come on, she couldn't keep doing this; she had to meet B and try out her presents. But it felt good for a moment to think of Horry and remember the old Watcher. And to realise that she had friends who cared for her.

The moon rose slowly in the sky over a weeping Slayer.

* * *

Sitting under a tree and meditating was not something that he had once thought he would ever do. Okay, it looked as if he was lying under the tree and sleeping, but if he had assumed the correct Jedi meditation position he would have drawn too much attention to himself.

No, instead he was in the position normally assumed by Xander Harris, sprawler extraordinaire, which was what people still thought that he was. It meant that he could stretch out with his feelings and surf the Force, so to speak. He could feel Buffy off to one side, probably in the library talking to Giles.

Faith was the other big signal in the Force, albeit one that had been puzzling him since the previous night. She had gone from being buzzed for instant slayage at the start of the birthday bash, to being baffled and then a complex skin of emotion, combining happiness, misery, longing, anger, joy and loss. Yes, she was a complex little slayer, and today she was feeling... different, he could tell. Perhaps it was attachment. Perhaps it was something else, he wasn't sure. What he did know was that he, Giles, Oz, Buffy and Willow had talked the previous night about making Faith a full Scooby, and the reactions from the others had been positive.

Oz was busy training out of sight in one corner of the flat roof, working on his balance skills. He could tell that Willow was with him, acting as a welcome distraction. He was pleased with the progress that his Padawan was making. The werewolf – or should that be former werewolf as he hadn't transformed in weeks? – was coming on in leaps and bounds, literally. He had excellent reflexes, a good sense of balance and his Force skills were improving rapidly. Giles was now teaching him the basics of swordfighting, and once Oz was along far enough not to be able to decapitate himself, he would step in to teach him the complexities of fighting with the Force.

Ever since the fight against his Sith self he had noticed an increase in interest in his fighting styles. Giles had run through a few training sessions with him so that he could pass them on to his Slayers, saying that the more they knew the more they could blend into their fighting techniques. He almost smiled in his trance. He had a feeling that Giles was trying to lead him up to something, to both pass on and absorb new information. There was a slight shift in the Force and he could feel that Buffy was moving now, he could feel her approaching the main doors, obviously having completed her Slayer business.

Then there were the other things that were looming on the horizon. His Sith counterpart had mentioned the mysterious Army base that was somewhere in the area and had even named it. The Initiative. They had to find out where that was, even if only to warn them that the inhabitants of Sunnydale included some things that should not be looked at without a very strong stomach and a pointy wooden object.

But the final thing that Darth Harris had mentioned was the most intriguing. The Goa'uld, if he had the pronunciation right. What were they, or it to him? Why had the Sith mentioned defending Earth? And why had he mentioned new technology?

Too many things to think about. Too many things to be concerned about. Well, at least he could make a start on a few things. He was already assembling the parts that Oz would use to make his lightsabre. He was also working on something else, a target drone. This would not be easy as Earth lacked repulsorlifts and the prospect of anti-gravity was probably decades, if not centuries, away in the future. However, he had the basics in his book and with a bit of tinkering there was a good chance that he could make it work.

He paused. Hurricane Snyder was in the area and avoiding him was one minor bonus of being a Jedi. Snyder was still smarting from utterly failing in his mission to catch Xander cheating at his SATs, for the simple reason that he hadn't needed to. When the results had come back to the school Snyder had queried both his and Buffy's figures, thinking that a mistake had been made, as that the two people he had figured for working in burger bars, or at least asking people if they wanted fries with the Special of the Day, had both scored so highly.

The look on his face when he heard that the scores were real had been priceless according to a gleeful Giles.

Ah well, class called, if his assessment of the time was accurate. He opened his eyes and got to his feet quickly, looking at his watch. Great, time for class.

* * *

He caught sight of her as he came out of history, a sulky look to her face and a distinct slouch to her body. Yup, this ex-demon was an annoyed ex-demon. He could feel more than vague annoyance rolling off her, in fact he didn't even need to use the Force to do so. When she turned and glanced at him she stiffened and then stomped up to him.

"How long," she said through clenched teeth, "Do you people intend to watch me? I mean the Watcher, it's his job to watch the Slayer not me and as for the rest of you..." She bit back something and then gave him a dazzlingly insincere smile. "It's not as if I'm a threat to you, is it?"

Leaning against the wall he directed a very level look at her. "Well," he said quietly, "As you're still a former demon who, oh I don't know, accidentally dragged an evil version of me into this world from a parallel dimension in a vain effort to regain your mojo, don't you think that we'd be idiots not to keep an eye on you?"

The dazzling smile hardened. "That was an accident."

"The Sith me or the attempt to get your powers back?"

She relapsed into poutiness. "Oh come on. A month ago I was a vengeance demon who rained fire and pincer thingies against unfaithful men. Now I can't get a drink and I'm flunking math and home economics." She shifted slightly. "Plus there's a silly little man who keeps gaping at me."

"Silly little man?" Asked the Jedi, confused.

"Him!" Her hand shot out to point at Jonathan who was loitering with intent to gape not far away. As she pointed he turned bright red, almost dropped his bag and walked straight into a closed door off the corridor by mistake before walking quickly away saying 'ow' a lot and rubbing his nose.

"You see?" She looked disgustedly down the corridor. "So how long are you people going to watch me?"

"Well, until you stop calling on witches to get your power back," he admitted.

"ONE witch!" she hissed indignantly, "One witch and even then she got it wrong!"

"Well, we're not taking any chances," he replied quietly. "And we have enough on our minds as it is anyway."

Oddly enough this perked her up. "Oh. I don't remember hearing about any new apoca-" his hand shot out to cover her mouth.

"Ssh," he said, "House rule: Don't frighten the children or mention the 'A' word. The 'A' word is bad."

She rolled her eyes upwards and sighed. "Okay, I don't remember hearing about any 'A'" Her index fingers framed the letter, "Word in my previous employment, if you want to get paranoid about the whole thing."

He spared her a long look. So far Giles had been unable to get very far with his research and they didn't want to ask around too much in the undead community for fear of alerting the Mayor to the fact that they had an inkling, in Giles's terms, about what he was up to. In the name of the Force, it was worth a gamble.

"What do you know about an ascension?" he asked over his shoulder as he walked away.

Then he stopped dead. A wave of fear and dread was pounding away in the force from her, enough to come from a crowd of people let alone one newly minted human. He turned and blinked. Anya was standing there, her eyes wide and her face deathly pale, as if she had seen a ghost.

"I don't know if I should faint or throw up," she quavered.

Jackpot, he thought. Thank the Force.

She started to talk.

() This was the first insult I ever learnt in Welsh. It's very harmless and can be deployed in front of small children, fluffy pets and little old ladies without causing irrevocable damage to their moral sensibilities. If you must know, go and look it up.


	22. Trick and Traps

Many, many apologies for the delay in getting this up on here. First I had to put the magazine to bed, then I had a lot of Christmas parties to go to, then I had my heart trampled on by a girl I thought I knew and then I fell ill. Then came Christmas. What a combination. Anyway here it is, longer than the last one. Hope you all enjoy this belated Christmas present.

* * *

"I'll open the Richard Wilkins Memorial Retirement Home at 1 p.m. tomorrow, and then pop back here for a late lunch. Something light and low-calorie, have to keep the old arteries clear, don't we? Oh and I'll deal with the paperwork on that ritual dismemberment and the new sewer system at the same time." The Mayor looked up at Allan Finch with a bright and breezy smile as he handed back his schedule. "Oh and Allan, can you send Mr Trick in please? I have a little job for him."

Finch nodded quickly, picked up his folders, tapped them into order carefully and stood up to go. He had almost made it to the door when Wilkins cleared his throat and he winced slightly.

"Ah, Allan?"

Finch turned, smooth his face into polite curiosity. "Sir?"

Wilkins looked at him carefully. "You look a little peaky, you know. Are you keeping good hours? My old mother used to say that there was nothing that a good eight hours sleep couldn't cure. When was the last time you had a holiday?"

Oh god I need a holiday away from this place, thought Finch desperately, and then frowned slightly. "I'm, I'm fine sir. Been working on the new library project a bit recently. A lot of work still needs to be done." Yes, work on something that didn't involve murder, the occult or washing my hands every five minutes.

The Mayor stood up and strolled over to him to lay a hand on his shoulder. "You know, too much work and not enough play makes Jack a dull boy, Allan. You should take things a little more easy. Play some golf! Better still, baseball. That's a great sport, the sport that made America great."

"Yes, sir, I will. Be nice to relax a little."

The flashing grin came again. "That's my boy! Now off you go."

Finch made it to the door, pulled it open and managed not to shudder as he looked down the hallway. Walking down it he knocked carefully at Trick's office. You always did things carefully around Trick. He had a habit of staring at your jugular when he talked to you, as if assessing how many ounces of blood pulsed in your neck.

"Come," said a quiet voice, and Finch opened the door. Trick was at his desk in the darkened room, a small desk lamp providing the only illumination. The vampire looked up and a sardonic smile glittered. "Mr Finch."

"He'd like to see you. The Mayor I mean."

Trick stood up and the room seemed to darken further, even though he was nowhere near the light. "Always keen to help the Mayor."

Backing up quickly out of the door Finch watched as the vampire strode past him and up the corridor. Then he gave in to his need to shudder and made for his own office. When he got there he put the folders he'd been carrying onto the desk. For a moment he felt like putting his head on them as well and crying. It was all getting too much. The Mayor's plans for his Ascension were gathering pace. He didn't know all the details, but Wilkins was calling on Trick more and more often these days, and the death toll seemed to be rising steadily. Not that the police reports and newspapers told the real story. You just had to read between the lines in the obituaries and the rumours of odd happenings.

Shakily he sat down on his chair and stared out of the window. He'd been able to put enough together though. Enough to be desperately afraid. He'd grown up here, he loved this place even though it was on a Hellmouth. And if Wilkins ever achieved his wish... he went pale and wished that he was a million miles away.

He had to do something. He had to warn someone. And then he had to find a place that was beyond the Mayor's extremely long reach.

* * *

Mr Trick knocked politely at the door and then walked in. Wilkins was at his window, looking out at the street beyond through the shutters. It was dark outside and the room was now only lit by the Mayor's own desk light.

"The Deputy Mayor said that you wanted to see me, sir."

"Ah, Mr Trick! Good of you to come," said Wilkins, his face striped by the glow from the streetlights through the shutters. "I think that young Allan will have an accident soon if he isn't careful. He seems a little... stressed. A shame, his father was a good man with a ceremonial skinning knife and his grandfather was the best damn acolyte, not to mention poker player that I ever knew. I'll make up my mind later if the accident is to be permanent or not."

Wilkins turned and walked back to desk to sir down. "Mr Trick, as you know things will be coming to a head fairly soon. My dedication last night was thankfully free of any mishaps, but I think that that was more a matter of chance than anything else. I think that the time has come to deal with a few inconveniences that might prove to be potential problems."

"The Slayers and the Jedi," said Trick, taking care to keep the grin on his face an internal one. The chance to kill a Slayer... well, that would put him in the running for some real power. And if that maggot Finch had an accident at the same time, then all to the good. It would take planning though.

"Yes, indeed, Mr Trick." Wilkins frowned. "The arrival of the first Slayer was unfortunate. The second one looked flawed enough to perhaps turn, but she seems to have bonded with the others, worse luck. But the Jedi – well that was a bolt from the blue! Shame that he and that mysterious Sith couldn't have killed each other... well, that's the way the cookie crumbles, isn't it?

"No, too much is at stake now. I may be invulnerable now, but there are a few other things that need to happen to my Ascension certain 99 days from now. I'm going to move my schedule up to call in what I need ahead of time. The Books of Ascension for a start. I need you to set up a meeting with the demon who says that he can get his hands on them. You can kill him as soon as you get the books. And then I need you to carry out a mission."

As the Mayor talked, Trick smiled quietly. Apparently Slayer blood gave a vampire a buzz that lasted for days. He might have a chance to find out now.

* * *

It wasn't the best of cars, but it had got him there from Boston in quite a reasonable time, he thought as he pulled the handbrake on and put the car into neutral. And at least it was a manual. He hated driving those damn automatic gearshift cars. They weren't exactly rare in Britain, but most people there preferred manuals. He sighed at the memory of the Jaguar that his father owned for years. Now that was a very nice car indeed.

Looking out of the window at the darkened bulk of the school, Wesley pondered for a moment on what his Slayer would be like and smiled quietly. From her records she sounded quite lively. Well, it was his job to tame that liveliness and add a dash of caution and a soupcon of wisdom. Quentin Travers had given him a great opportunity and he intended to take it with both hands and run like the wind. He was sure that Mr Giles had done a perfectly adequate job under the circumstances, but now he was on the case, to use the local idiom. Right, he thought as he got out of the car and locked it with a flourish, time to kick bottom. Then he paused. His key seemed to have snapped off in the lock. Damn.

As he walked up the darkened hallway he could hear the distinctive sound of swords clashing. Yes, it sounded like Toledo steel making contact with some form of Sheffield steel. Interesting. Reaching the doors he looked through the round window. A middle-aged man was holding a sword with a training crossguard and talking to a dark-haired girl, who was listening intently. Obviously Miss Morgan and Mr Giles. He paused. The two had started to fence, slowly at first, and then more quickly, the sound of the blades meeting coming clearly through the air. And they were using a familiar set of stances, albeit with the occasional nuance that he couldn't identify. How very irregular. Wesley straightened his tie carefully and walked in.

* * *

"Good Faith, very good," said Giles as he looked the younger Slayer, "But you need to move your feet a little more. Swordfighting is all about balance and control. You can't just hammer away at the opposition."

Faith winced slightly and her eyes flickered over to her original practice sword, which still had that 45-degree angle in it from the week before when she'd gone into a slightly berserk frenzy on a practice dummy, three feet of railing and a concrete post. She'd rather reminded him of the drummer from the Muppet Show, something that he'd made a note never to tell her if he wanted to live.

He smiled at her and eventually she huffed some of the hair away from her face and smiled sheepishly back at him. "Giles, how come Buffy and Jedi Xander make this look so easy?"

"Well, Buffy and I trained intensively before her battle with Angelus last year. As for Xander... well, you know that I've never been able to explain where he got his knowledge from. And he trained with me again. But, but don't worry, you're picking this up far faster than Buffy did. You just need to focus a little more with your mind and a little less with your instincts. There are levels of being a Slayer, and the two of you will have different learning curves."

"Right, now try and block this," the Watcher said and then brought his sword up. Faith's sword met it and then he swiveled slightly and went into a classic attack that his father had taught him. The sword came up, along, broke contact with its opponent and then he inserted that move that he'd worked out with Xander, a curving half-block half-lunge that had her staggering back before she countered it with a sharp slash and lunge of her own.

"Hell Giles, sweet moves there!"

"Rather unorthodox, I'd say."

They both turned sharply at the sound of the new voice, to see a bespectacled man in his late 20's standing there. He was dressed in a Saville Row suit, had a fresh handkerchief tucked in his breast pocket and looked intolerably smug. Giles groaned internally. The newcomer just screamed novice Watcher. On the surface, anyway.

"Wesley Wyndham-Price," said the Englishman and this time Giles did groan out loud. "I beg your pardon, Mr Giles?"

"Nothing, just a bit of trapped wind," said Giles, which was a good way of describing the apparition of eagerness in front of him. Tom's description of the Watcher sent to collect Mrs Horrocks' things had been dead right: "English, looked like a pompous puppy with a bad smell under his nose, standard Watcher fresh from training and so wet behind the ears you could use him as a scrubbing brush."

He had a vague memory of meeting a ten-year old boy at Council Headquarters who had told him in a very penetrating voice that actually the Temple of Jupiter Stator did still exist in Rome, but was now under the tourist stand, which explained why the pencils there kept disappearing and the word 'whibble' was occasionally found written on the pavement of the Forum. Sad little git.

Wesley reached into an inside pocket and pulled out an envelope embossed with the Council's coat of arms. "My credentials, Mr Giles," he said, beaming at them. "Hello Miss Morgan. I'm your new Watcher."

Faith looked up and down at him and then looked at Giles imploringly. "Please tell me that this is one of those British jokes and that this is a guy you hired in LA. Or that it's Gwendolyn whatshername in a very good disguise."

Opening the letter and scanning the orders inside Giles sighed. "I fear not. He is, indeed, your new Watcher." He looked at Wesley carefully. "As long as you can prove that you are, indeed, Wesley Wyndham-Price. We had a minor incident with a former Watcher a few months back who also claimed to be Faith's new Watcher."

"Gwendolyn Post, yes I heard. Shocking business that. To have a Watcher lose sight of her true purpose in life, to turn to the dark ways and seek to do evil must have been-" Faith's sword was suddenly against the tip of his nose and he squeaked to a halt. "Rather scary?"

He slowly reached into his other inside pocket and pulled out a passport and a copy of his Watcher's Council identity card. Giles took them, checked for tampering and the right secret symbol against the picture on the latter and then told Faith to take the sword away.

The new Watcher straightened his tie, harrumphed a few times and then asked, in an acid tone that could have etched metal, why they were being so cautious.

So they showed him.

* * *

Wesley frowned as Mr Giles and his somewhat overzealous new Slayer escorted him into the library office. They seemed to be taking the security aspects of being a Slayer to rather an extreme. Then he paused. One side of the office, hidden under a blanket, was a large board. Mr Giles approached it and, tugging the cover off, gestured at the information displayed there.

"We are dealing with the ascension of the local town mayor into a demon, Wesley," he said with a little too much emphasis on the last word. "And as the Mayor, one Richard Wilkins, has been around for more than a hundred years, we're dealing with something rather unusual, to say the least."

Carefully pulling his glasses down onto the end of his nose, Wesley peered at the board. On the top left hand side was a picture of a man in the full suit, waistcoat and hat that was de rigueur for the end of the 19th Century. A number of other pictures were next to it, taken from different decades of the Twentieth Century. The suits changed but the man didn't. "Ah," said Wesley, mulling over the possibilities. "Perhaps a longevity spell or a follower of one of the more powerful demons that inhabit this world." He looked at the rest of the board, which was taken up with plans of Sunnydale, notes to do the position of the moon, possible prophecies and what looked like a list of mystical things that the Mayor might require. "But I fail to understand why you should be so worried. Surely Miss Morgan and Miss Summers have dealt with demons before."

"Yeah, and no," drawled the Slayer. "Yeah, we've put a lot of things with horns and stuff into the ground, no sweat, five by five. But we've been dealing with tinted ones apparently."

"Tinted ones?" he asked, baffled. "You mean colourful ones or something?"

Mr Giles coughed slightly. "Tainted, Faith, tainted demons. Ones which have small amounts of human blood and which are no longer pure demon."

Frowning, Wesley took off his glasses and polished them rapidly. "But surely all demons are pure by their own standards, so what would a pure demon look like? And can I ask where you got this information Mr Giles? I mean that I've never heard of any reference or research that refers to demons as being tainted?"

Mr Giles and Miss Morgan shared a glance. "Can't wait to see you explain this one, G-Man," she drawled. Then she stopped and looked over her shoulder out of the office. "Hey, B, patrol go okay?"

A short blond girl with a jaunty look peered in. She had a sword in one hand and a battleaxe in the other, both of which were stained with some kind of green ichor. When she caught sight of Wesley she froze.

"Relax, B, new Watcher. Wyndam Wesley-Pricetag."

"Wesley Wyndam-Price," he corrected firmly, putting his hand out. "Good evening Miss Summers."

She juggled the weapons briefly, managed to shake his hand without breaking too many of his fingers and then looked at Mr Giles meaningfully. "Did his little nametag thingie check out, Giles? I mean is he what he says he is?"

Slightly hurt by these repeated doubts about his authenticity, Wesley nodded. "I have been able to provide full details to prove my identity."

The older Slayer looked at him for a long moment, and then looked back over at Mr Giles, who nodded. "Okay," she said, "Has he had the Xander test yet?"

Xander test? It sounded like the At-Khal-Sandrus Test, by which a champion of the blood had to prove that he could stand mighty perils and perform famous deeds, but that was a bit archaic, wasn't it? Although according to Daniels' latest theory, citing a misplaced blob of ink over a dead spider in the original copy, the test was actually a way of getting rid of old pastries in Alexandria. Or was it perhaps the Xan-Tar-Isib-Derr'Lo test, whereby a hundred men had to ride across the Gobi Desert, fight to cross the River of Scorpions and then battle the fabled Doorman of the Seven Valleys for the right to take their shoes to the Celestial Cobbler. He wasn't sure about the last part of the translation for that one.

"Not yet," said a new voice, and Wesley saw that a tall young man with dark hair was standing in the doorway next to Miss Summers. He looked very calm and composed and he was fingering some sort of metal device that was clipped to his belt. He was also staring very hard at Wesley, before looking over at the others and nodding briefly. "He's clean. Not another Post in Watcher's clothing."

To Wesley's astonishment they seemed to accept this from whoever this chap was. And given the fact that he knew about Gwendolyn Post and Watchers, that must mean that he knew about the Slayers. He turned to Mr Giles, who smiled and held up a hand.

"Wesley, this is Xander Harris. Xander, this is Wesley Wyndham-Price, Faith's new Watcher. Yes, Wesley, Xander knows. You'll find that the Slayers here have a number of friends who know what they do and who assist.

"In fact, I think that you'll find that there's quite a lot about life on the Hellmouth that will surprise you."

* * *

It was large. It had horns. It had red eyes and fangs. It was also called Trevor, or to be more accurate, T'Rrevor, and it was looking at Mr Trick with a great deal of contempt. The feeling was mutual, but Trick smiled anyway.

He gestured at the noisy room, filled with about ten similar demons, 11 female demons who were of varying types but all of whom were wearing clothing that exposed far more than they hid, a band of some sort, a small bar and a lot of cigarette smoke. It looked like Russ Meyer's vision of hell, thought Trick. "It always amazes me," he drawled, "How single-minded you can be in your pursuit of low living."

The demon displayed more fangs in what might have been a smile. "It always disgusts me," he replied, "What you like to get up to with all that high living, Trick. But at least it gets you out of the way. Until today anyway. Whaddaya want?"

Trick bent to sit down, saw what was smeared on the chair, shuddered and instead went down onto his haunches besides Trevor. "Business."

"Well, yes, obviously. What kinda business? Make it quick, Hooty's arrived and she and I have some business of our own to take care of, if you know what I mean." Across the room a red-skinned demon batted her eyelashes at Trevor and displayed a lot of leg.

Trick sighed to himself. "I need your crew to help with a meeting I'm setting up. A meeting where the opposition is dangerous but killable. You get to kill and you get to be paid. Interested?"

A red eye swiveled to study the vampire thoughtfully while the other remained on Hooty and her chest of delights. "What's your definition of 'dangerous but killable', Trick?"

"At least one human. Maybe two. Good fighters, probably armed with swords and they know about the Hellmouth. A challenge. You want names?"

The eye returned to Hooty and her jiggling, which was starting to make Trick vaguely seasick. "No, we don't bother with names. Where, when and how much?"

Trick reached into his pocket and pulled out a slim envelope, which he handed over. With surprising delicacy for a creature with claws Trevor opened it and looked at the contents. Then his eyes widened. "Lot of money mentioned on this here paper."

He received an easy smile from the vampire. "My employer can be a very generous man. Plus he thinks that it might be a good idea if you and your people relocated after the meeting."

Trevor looked at him levelly and then nodded. "We're one short anyway. F'Varr vanished off to LA a few weeks back, the little maggot, saying that he had some business to do. But the rest of us ought be enough. Done." He stood up, strode across the room and slung the giggling Hooty over one shoulder while the rest of the room cheered. "Done!"

You damn well have been done, as the British say, thought Trick as he left the noisy house. The demons might make the difference between a live slayer and a dead one. If the meddling Jedi turned up, the more the merrier. He pulled out a handkerchief and brushed some flakes of matter from his sleeve. That place was, well, just unhygienic. He smiled. He had a lot to do, much to arrange. People to kill, too.

* * *

It was a shabby little place but it was all his more or less, thought Skyler. The landlord was going to get his heart ripped out one of these days if the amenities weren't kept up to scratch, but it was the place that the demon called home. He looked through the doorway carefully, checked that the hall was clear and then closed the door. For a split second he thought that he could smell cigarette smoke and sweat, but that was probably just a whiff of air from the room opposite. Oddly troubled he scratched at his goatee for a moment and then shrugged. In his line of business you got used to the odd attack of nerves. Paranoia had its place – it kept you alive if you listened to it carefully enough.

For the third time that afternoon he checked the bag containing the books and then stared at the phone. He could always ring them as well, he mused... see how high the bidding would go before he made a decision. Having a third option was always good and he stood to make a lot on this deal. Buying the books hadn't cost him much at all. It wasn't as if they were unique (there was another set in Tibet, guarded by some monks and at least two more sets in Latin America) and the old man he'd gotten them from had been teetering on the edge of senility anyway. However, they were the only set in the USA at the moment. Pausing he crossed over to look at the phone again. This time he reached out and picked up the receiver. "I wonder how much Wolfram & Hart would pay for them," he mused out loud. Someone suddenly hammered on the door and he put the phone down hurriedly and fingered the gun in his coat. Bullets were very reassuring things. Especially when he'd covered all the angles by having them dipped in holy water. Nasty place Sunnydale, you never know what you were dealing with.

"Who is it, who's there?"

"An emissary," said a low voice through the thin door. "Here to... negotiate."

Skyler frowned. They were early. Very early. He opened the door and pointed this out to the dark-skinned man in the snazzy suit who was standing there.

"The Mayor likes renegotiating things. A lot of things." And he patted the briefcase in his hand. Skyler brightened cautiously. The guy just oozed money.

"Of course," he smarmed, gesturing.

"Thank you," said the man as he walked into the flat and looked around, his nostrils flaring slightly.

"You'll have to excuse me, I wasn't expecting guests so soon," said Skyler, his attention on the briefcase.

"Do you have the books of Ascension?" asked the man with admirable bluntness.

"Of course I do, but do you have the money to buy them? The price has gone up a little since I last talked to your employer. The market, you see, never stays still. Supply and demand you know, it never stays still for long."

"A rise in price was anticipated. My employer likes to keep his options open. The Books are here then?"

"Of course. May I see the money?"

The man looked around and fixed his eyes on a spot above and to one side of Skyler, who frowned. This was not looking like normal negotiations. "Is he telling the truth?" asked the man menacingly into empty air. Something suddenly shimmered there, like a heat haze and suddenly Skyler found himself looking at a tall, red-eyed, horned thing, which was wearing a t-shirt that read: Judge Dredd for President. The thing looked at Trick, nodded and then drew one massive fist back.

"No!" squeaked Skyler, pulling his hands up in front of his face, but it was too late. He had the vague sensation of flying through the air to hit the wall. After that there was a lot of pain, culminating with a horrific stab of agony in his stomach. As everything started to go dark he heard a rumbling voice say: "That was far too easy. What a loser. No challenge to that. What about the others?"

"Patience, Trevor. Good things come to those who wait."

Then the shadows closed in.

* * *

Willow looked at the mound of books, glanced at the clock and sighed. 7 o'clock. It would have been so much easier if they had been scanned into the computer so that she could just call up a basic search programme and go through everything in the blink of an eye. However, after that bad, bad thing with the Demon Moloch two years ago, and the whole 'my boyfriend's a demon' situation that still embarrassed her, Giles had declared that any future scanning would take place "over my dead body", so that was out.

So that left the old-fashioned way, or Shanks' Eyeballs, as Giles called it. She grinned. He used language in a goofy way sometimes. The grin faded and she looked at forlornly at the books and then at Oz, who was next to her. He was staring at a book as it floated in the air towards him, before coming to rest on the table.

"That's so cool," she said enthusiastically. "I mean the whole 'use the Force, Luke' thing. You're so much better at it now."

"Practice," said Oz, smiling at her. "Two books, more difficult though. Three, and headache time." Then he sighed. "Be nice when we don't have to check over our shoulders."

Another pile of books arrived on the desk and Giles cleared his throat. "Yes, well," he said, "My reports to the Watcher's Council have been about Buffy and Faith. I chose not to mention the Jedi aspect of Sunnydale as I felt that the Council... um... might not have viewed it in quite the same light as the rest of us. Not that we need to keep Wesley in the dark for long – just long enough to sound him out about some of the more... unorthodox elements about living on the Hellmouth."

A snort ripped out from across the table. "Hell, Giles, the guy's a loser and I've only known him for two days! He tried to correct my staking stance last night and he told me that today he's going to get me back onto a more 'proper' swordfighting style for a Slayer. As if my old one wasn't already five by five!" Faith held her hands up in supplication and a note of pleading entered her voice. "Please don't tell me that I've got to listen to him! Can't I keep training with you and B on the side? C'mon, G-Man!"

Opening his mouth for a moment, Giles leant back in the pose that Willow recognised as his deep thought position and cleaned his glasses carefully. When he spoke it was very clearly and distinctly. "Faith, I am no longer your Watcher, so I cannot interfere. However, as your former Watcher I am allowed to offer you... advice and encouragement if your current Watcher is not around at the time. Should you feel it necessary to change your fighting style depending on your present company at the time, then obviously you should bear in mind who is around." He finished polishing, replaced his glasses and then looked at the ceiling. For the first time in her life Willow realised what the phrase 'butter wouldn't melt in his mouth' looked like. It was just like the Watcher.

There was a soft cough to the other side of Faith. "As a Jedi," said Xander, "I disapprove of lying. However, in this case it boils down to your holding a certain differing point of view from Wesley. So if you happened to bump into someone and asked for some help or advice... well, as long as you don't lie to Wesley about where you were..."

A number of evil grins appeared around the table.

"I had no idea that you guys could be so devious," said a smirking Buffy.

"I don't know what you mean, Buffy," said Giles with a straight face. "Now I suggest that we get on with looking up more details about this Box of Gavrok, which the Mayor might require. Until we have more up-to-date information from my contact about the Books of Ascension, there's little we can do."

This earned him another snort from Faith. "Still don't see why we don't go down to City Hall and vote him out of office the old-fashioned way."

Willow did her best not to roll her eyes. Faith could be a bit abrupt sometimes. Her attitude tended to be to hit it with a large pointy object if it moved and stamp on it when it didn't, although according to Buffy the dark-haired Slayer had mellowed a bit since she moved out of the sleazy motel where she'd been staying and into a flat paid for by the Watcher's Council. Originally Faith had said that the fact that vampires could enter hotels and motels meant that she got to practice her slayage skills quite often. However, she hadn't complained that much once Giles had shown her the flat. It was small but comfortable. It was now also, thanks to the Last Will and Testament of Mrs Horrocks, all hers.

Giles sighed. He seemed to be doing that a lot these days. "Faith, as I have told you before, we lack information on exactly how Wilkins has stayed alive for so long. We don't know what he has done, we don't know which demons he's allied to and we don't know how much power he has. I refuse to send you or Buffy into harm's way without more information and a decent fighting chance. It would be like sending you into a fighting pit blindfolded until the last moment."

He paused as the phone went in his office. "Ah. This might be the information I've been expecting." He scurried into the office.

"Mean old Giles, leaving us to the books," pouted Willow.

"He's got more patience than I have," said Buffy. "Normally when I need the skinny on something I go and beat it out of Willy the Snitch, but he's out of town at the moment. Apparently his granny died, which is kinda odd, 'cause I thought that he sold her years ago."

"Cynic," said Xander and then stared at the door. "Company," he said. "Wesley."

"How can you tell it's Wesley," asked Buffy, puzzled, "when you've only known him for a couple of days."

"He gives off a squeaky feeling in the Force," came the reply, and then the doors opened and the new Watcher came in.

* * *

Wesley was rather surprised to find everyone looking at the door when he entered, but put it down to his natural presence and leadership skills.

"Ah good, everyone's here. I was able to find this Anya person and talk to her in private about what she knew. Wasn't easy as someone called Jonathan was hovering around her like a dizzy moth. She told him to go away abruptly, but at the same time she kept looking at where he'd got to with a very odd look in her eye. Is she entirely sane?"

"Wesley, she's a former demon who's gone from immortality and power to being a High School Student who's afraid that the local mayor is going to turn into a giant snake-like demon, would you be entirely sane?" asked Miss Summers. He had to concede that she had a point.

"Well, I've put a call in to the Council. Her description of where the Ascension that she witnessed took place rang a bell with me. I think that there's recently been an archaeological excavation in the area, but the details escape me for the moment. I think that it was briefly mentioned in the last issue History Today back home.

"If more information is available then we should get a better idea of what manner of creature we're dealing with."

"Big snake," the Slayers chorused.

"Yes, I know," said Wesley slightly crossly, "But we need to find out what kind of powers it will wield. And if it is 60 feet long, we need a strategy to deal with it."

"Kebab skewer?" suggested Miss Summers.

"Giant mongoose! Any spells for that?" said Faith.

"Biggest forked stick in the world?" from young Harris, who was frowning even as he quipped.

"Indian," said the fellow known as Oz, cryptically. Then he caught their looks. "Snake charmer," he explained and they all nodded.

"I rather think that you should take this matter more cheerfully," said Wesley, trying to remember his lessons on How To Exercise Leadership Skills. He sat down at the head of the table and clasped his hands. "This is a serious situation."

"Relax Wesley," said Alexander Harris. The frown was deeper now. "We are thinking about it. Even wondering about planning something." He scratched his ear thoughtfully, looked around the library as if he was assessing how large it was and then looked up at the doorway to Mr Giles's office. A moment later the older Watcher came through, polishing his glasses.

"What's the sitch, Giles?" asked Miss Summers irrevently.

Starting slightly the man put his glasses back on again and wandered over to the desk.

"That, ah, that was a rather interesting call. It turns out that my contact, Skyler, has the books and is willing to sell them to us, although he sounded rather odd. Said that he had a cold, but I've never known him suffer from any illnesses. And he was a tad... hazy... about payment. He just said to send money via someone reliable who could take care of themselves, as apparently the Mayor's men have been sniffing around, apparently also looking to buy the books.

"Which is, ah, somewhat, um, disturbing," said Mr Giles with what seemed to be masterful understatement to Wesley. A succession of groans filled the air in the library and most of the others looked rather shaken, apart from the Harris chap and the teenager with the odd name of Oz.

"Giles," said Ms Summers, "We can speak Watcherese by now, and we know that 'somewhat disturbing' means 'prepare to meet the next apocalypse.' So Mayor Wilkins knows that these ascension tomes are in town." She stopped dead and rolled her eyes. "I don't believe I just used the word 'Tome', I soooo have to watch my language and get you speaking Californian."

"Is that an actual language?" Wesley asked, frowning.

"Yeah, it is, or should be," said Faith and hefted the knife that she always carried on her person. "Why don't we just find this guy, pay him, do the demon equivalent of a staking if he tries to double-cross us and them shake it all out at the Bronze?"

Shake what out, thought Wesley, and a bronze what?

However, Mr Giles seemed to have drifted off into a brown study, staring at the wall with a frown on his face.

"Giles?" asked the Harris chap abruptly, "What's wrong?"

The Watcher started slightly and then looked at the others. "I'm not sure, but I have a bad feeling about this. It's too easy, too good to be true."

He stood up suddenly, taking Wesley aback. "Buffy, Faith, I want you two to make it to the rendezvous tonight, the junction of 4th and Morriseys at midnight. I'll make out a check to Skyler that you can give to him. Be careful, both of you, and go armed." Miss Summers squeaked something about using Birdy and Faith twirled that deadly looking knife around with a grin.

Giles continued: "Xander, Oz, I want you to take on patrolling tonight. Keep your eyes peeled for anything unusual, and take my cell phone. I've never been able to make the bloody thing work, but you should be able to use it. Use your..." his eyes flickered to Wesley for a second, "Special abilities to probe. Any hint of anything unusual and you call me. This might be... well I can't describe this feeling. I don't normally believe in sixth sense, but right now I think that it's worth listening to in this case. Willow, you find Cordelia, Amy and Anya and meet me back here.

"Move all of you!"

Everyone moved, with the exception of a rather stunned Wesley. He'd always thought of Mr Giles, based on his record, as a rather woolly chap, someone who was a wizard at research but rather less forceful when it came to practical situations, something that he himself had always excelled in when it came to tactical simulations.

"What, ah, should, should I do?" asked Wesley in a halting voice. Mr Giles turned a burning gaze onto him.

"Find a bloody sword, you twit," came the reply.

* * *

Patrolling was something that Xander used to find both stressful and boring, depending on what was going on. The stressful parts involved vampires trying to pull bits off you. The boring parts involved looking for said vampires and if they were fledglings that meant sitting by a new grave for hour after hour after hour.

Nowadays it was all much simpler thanks to the Force and the stress part hadn't bothered him for months. As for the boring bit, he just took a walk through his memories or practiced his skills or continued Oz's training. At the moment this last part consisted of watching as his Padawan walked along a railing that stretched for about a hundred yards without wobbling once and holding his sword in a force grip in front of him. This was a tricky exercise, involving splitting his concentration, but the werewolf – or should that be lapsed werewolf? – had mastered it well. Reaching the end of the railing he leapt in the air, tucked into a tight roll and landed on his feet with his sword in his hand.

"Good," said Xander approvingly. Oz had improved enormously over the past weeks, going from strength to strength. It wasn't the crash course that he had put himself through in the desert but given the fact that Xander himself had had a few missteps at the start of his desert ordeal, Oz had still come a long way very quickly. He wasn't a Jedi Knight yet by a long shot – there was still a lot to teach him and there was the issue of how to test his resistance to the Dark Side – but he was a few months away, perhaps less, from joining Xander as the second Jedi on the Hellmouth.

"We need to start working on multiple force holds now, two or three things at a time. The more you stretch yourself the more your control will include. You'll find that it gives you better spatial awareness, plus a better feeling on how different objects feel in the Force."

"Like what?" asked a fascinated Oz.

"Well, started Xander, and then he looked around. "Take that tree for instance. It's a living thing, so it has its own connection to the Force. It exists within the Force. Then look at that pebble in the flowerbed. It's not living, but it still has a presence in the Force, because it's still there, it's a part of the world as a whole so it has it's own link to the Force." He smiled. "Everything's connected. That's why when something good or bad or just plain strange happens, you can feel it in the Force. It lets off ripples."

Oz considered this and nodded sombrely. "Speaking of happening things, can you feel anything tonight? It's almost 11.30."

"I know, but nada so far," said Xander, looking at the lights of Sunnydale. They were passing through an area of the town that wasn't exactly luxurious, but which also offered quite good views of the town. And so far he could feel nothing, apart from a pair of rather cautious Slayers who were a few miles off to the West and starting to move north.

"Odd to have to be so careful because of Wesley," said Oz after a moment.

"He's new. Giles thinks that the Council doesn't need to know about the Force, at least not yet. I get the feeling that the average higher up on the Council isn't exactly Mr Fluffy, and given my memories of the Galactic Senate, which fought amongst itself like Bothans at a Clan Meeting, I'm not sure that I blame the G-Man. It's going to make life interesting, anyway," said Xander and then stopped dead.

"What is it?" asked Oz, looking around.

Xander tilted his head and then nodded at the bushes to one side of the road ahead of them. "Someone's over there," he whispered. "They're not human, I can feel that from the Force and they seem to be dying. Very weak, anyway."

Narrowing his eyes Oz stared hard in the right direction. There was someone there, a faint presence in the Force that pulsed with a strange energy – an energy that seemed to be ebbing away. No wonder he'd missed it, it was like trying to see a shadow on a moonlit night. Putting his hand under his coat and onto the hilt of his sword he almost looked around to see if anyone was nearby and then shook his head ruefully and used the Force. Just them and their mystery guest. Out came the sword and he looked at his trainer, who had his inactive lightsabre in his hand.

Xander pointed at Oz and then made a half-circle in the air with his finger to one side, before tapping his chest and making a similar gesture on the other side.

Nodding, Oz swung out to approach the bush, watching both it and Xander carefully. When they were both in position the Jedi Knight said: "Whoever's in there, you'd better move out really carefully or my friend and I will get testy."

For a moment there was a long silence and then suddenly the bush shook slightly and whatever was in gave a long, and very weak groan. Oz flicked an eyebrow at Xander, who frowned. Whatever it was, it seemed to be weakening by the second. Taking a deep breath Oz nodded at Xander and they both stepped up to the bush, parting the branches with their free hands, weapons ready to strike... against a bloodstained figure that raised a shaking hand slowly even as it struggled to look up. "Help..." it said in a voice that was little more than a sigh.

Carefully Xander pulled the figure out of the bush, which revealed the full extent of its injuries. It was a demon, with a small pair of horns on its head that almost matched the pointed ears beneath. It had a fringe of longish hair and a goatee that looked very unstylish.

The demon took a deep breath and then broke into a hacking cough that left dark red blood oozing down from the corner of his mouth. Then he slowly moved his head to look at them both. Nothing happened for a moment and then he caught sight of the lightsabre clipped to Xander's belt, reaching out with a last desperate reserve of strength to grab the Jedi's arm.

"You're... you're him... Harris I mean...you know... the Slayers... you're the... Jedi..." he wheezed.

"Yes, I am," said Xander quietly, motioning for Oz to put his sword away. "Why, what's on your mind?"

The demon reached into his pocket with his other hand and pulled out a slip of paper. "Mayor... wanted to buy... Books of Ascension... sent his killer.... Trick to meet me. Heh heh," he cackled, "Met me... yes... killed me... cheated me..." The eyes were increasingly glazed but something was keeping the dying demon going, something that drove him with a last reserve of strength as he pushed the paper into Xander's hand.

"You... can cheat him... back. Here. Here, take... it. Where the books... are. Where Trick is going... came to in time... heard him talking to the demon who got me... you can stop him... heh heh, cheat him back... cheat... him... back..." The demons' breath rattled briefly and then stopped, his head lolling to one side.

"This would be Skyler, I presume," said Oz. "Well, Giles said that he didn't sound well."

The Jedi was frowning however. "This is giving me an odd vibe. From the Force this guy's been dying for some time, at least nine or ten hours. So how come Giles talked to him just after seven this evening?" He looked at the body and then held up the bloodstained edge of the coat. "This has been dried for a long time, Oz." Then his attention turned to Skyler's arms. "God, this is simplistic, but it just might work... his watch, Oz, look at his watch."

The Padawan glanced at the wristwatch on the demon's arm and stopped dead. Behind the shattered glass on the front the arms could be seen stuck at 1:19 presumably pm. Then he looked at the ugly cylinder of wood sticking out of Skyler's stomach. "There's no way that this guy could have made that phone call, unless most of this happened afterwards," he said grimly.

"Trick," said Xander levelly, "That was the guy Kakistos had working for him. I thought that he'd left town in a hurry. I guess I was wrong." He opened up the piece of paper and glanced at it. Then he looked up at Oz. "Never doubt the G-Man, when he feels a tremor in the Force, know matter where it comes from, you listen. Trick's going to this rendezvous to meet Buffy and Faith, only I don't think that he's going to be carrying the Books of Ascension. It smells like an ambush. You hide Skyler while I try to get Giles's cell phone to work. Then we bug out to the rendezvous, fast as we can. Time for your next lesson – moving with the traffic."

* * *

Willow was balancing a pencil on the tip of her nose and trying to use magic to stabilise it. Unfortunately she was so tired that her concentration kept slipping. The soft noise of snoring from Amy to one side and Cordelia's sleep-ridden mutterings of "Not my credit card... urgh, not the gold Amex... no, bad scissors... bad..." weren't helping either.

When the phone rang therefore she sat bolt upright and blinked a lot. The pencil whizzed off and she heard a 'thunk' noise.

"Please be more careful, Willow," said Giles acerbically as he pulled the pencil out of the doorframe to his office and went to answer the phone.

"Hello?" she heard him say as she looked at the clock. 11:35. Early yet. Then her ears pricked up as she heard him say: "Ah Xander! Everything alright? What unlock keypad button? Well, it's working now. Yes. Yes. Um, balding, small horns, goatee... Oh dear. Dead? Ah. Very enterprising of you. Yes, fat chance of it having been him. Right. Yes, get there ASAP, we'll come as fast as we can."

The receiver banged down and Giles strode out of the office, grabbed his sword and pulled the sleeping Wesley upright with his free hand. "Trouble," said Giles in his Ripper Voice. "Skyler's dead, the Mayor probably already has the Book's and Buffy and Faith are walking into a trap. Xander and Oz will meet us there."

"I presume," said Wesley, slightly groggily, "That they have transport?"

Giles hesitated. "They have their own methods," he said enigmatically and then bundled everyone out of the door.

* * *

The traffic in Sunnydale tended to vary. Sometimes, on certain routes, such as the main one to LA, it could be fast, on others it could be non-existent. It also had a habit of ebbing and flowing, depending on the time of day. Many people in Sunnydale had realised that the muggers had a habit if stabbing people with forks a lot, which might explain the odd wounds that some people had.

Xander therefore knew that the big 16-wheeler that he and Oz were riding on the back of was quite a good stroke of luck. It was going in the right direction, it was treating the speed limit as more of a guideline than the rule and it wasn't being driven by someone who had last slept somewhere around Memphis.

The fact that Oz had one eyebrow raised meant that he was finding the whole experience deeply cool, in a quiet sort of way.

"Only to be tried at night and when you're in one hell of a hurry," he shouted over his shoulder at his Padawan, who nodded in understanding. Then he looked over at the turning coming up. "Okay, here's our stop. Force jump off, once round the streetlight, hit the ground running and follow me." He waited carefully for the right moment, leapt, grabbed the nearest streetlight with his hand and one foot and spiraled down it to bleed off his momentum, glancing up to confirm that Oz was following. When he hit the ground he took off down the road. He was pleased – his Padawan had coped with it all better than he had hoped. He might be closer to Jedi Knight status than he had thought.

As they ran he reached out with his senses... and then he ran faster.

The junction was dark as they approached, now down to a slow pace in from one side. It looked quiet. It wasn't. Pausing, Xander gestured with one hand to stop and Oz went down onto one knee. Fortunately on the north side of Morriseys there was a small park and they were able to use the bushes to hide behind.

"Well, there's Trick," breathed Xander, looking into the deep pool of shadow off to one side of the junction. The vampire stood out like a sore thumb in the Force, the feeling projected by his demon quite obvious. There were two problems however, and both were in a sense out of sight. The first were easy to spot, off to one side of Trick.

"Yuck," whispered Oz next to him, "That's a lot of vampires."

"Yup," he replied. "About 25, maybe 30. That's not what's worrying me though. Feel out with the Force to the junction. The lighted section."

Oz frowned and stared for a long minute.

"Close your eyes if you need to," urged Xander. "Feel those shapes in the Force? There's something there. Something we can't see."

His Padawan paused and then pointed slowly. "I can feel them, just. What are they?"

"I don't know, but if we can just about feel them, then there's no way that Buffy and Faith will be able to even sense them, unless their Slayer-senses are turned up real high." He looked off to one side, feeling with the Force. "And they're close."

"Warn them off?"

"No time. All I can do is get into position to act as an ace in the hole. Stay here, come running when things get going in a bit. I'll deal with our invisible friends, you help the Slayers when the fang-faces get lively. If we can hit them from different directions that we might be able to get the initiative."

"Yes General Kenobi," whispered Oz with a smile and moved slowly over to stand behind a tree.

Xander grinned and moved backwards a few paces before going off slowly to one side, watching Trick carefully and holding his inactivated lightsabre in one hand. Whatever the hell was standing in the middle of the junction they were all looking off to one side down 14th Street, which probably meant that they could see the Slayers who were fast approaching.

* * *

Buffy heard Faith sniff the air a few times as they walked down the road, which was a bad thing. Very bad. She tightened her grip on Birdy slightly and made yet another mental note to call it by the name that Xander had given it, Aquila. Kinda the same thing, but it meant something to the Jedi.

"Company?" she said out of the corner of her mouth.

"Yup. A lot of it," replied Faith as she removed the stake that Giles had made her from her belt. It was almost as good as Mr Pointy. Faith twirled it in one hand and then pulled her knife out with her other hand.

"How much is a lot?"

"At least 20, maybe more," said the brunette.

"Sod."

"You've been hanging with the G-Man too long."

"Better him than 'Mr I'm fresh off from Watcher School'."

"Nah, Giles will teach me all the good bits. What do ya think they teach in Watcher School anyway?"

"How to make tea?"

"Crumpet toasting?"

"What is a crumpet anyway?"

"Horry had them. Round things, like floury waffles. Great with butter."

"Fattening?"

"Only if you don't do some slaying afterwards."

They were approaching the junction now and suddenly a voice said: "Well, hello, what do we have here?"

"Pair of Slayers," snapped Faith. "I recognise that voice, by the way. I thought you skipped town when I dusted your master, Trick. Working for the Mayor now?"

The vampire stepped into the light. "I never could resist the opportunity to taste a little blood. And Mayor Wilkins has a great health plan."

Buffy drew her sword and picked imaginary dirt off the razor-sharp edge. "Let me guess, Skyler can't make it tonight?"

Trick smiled, his teeth glittering in the light of the streetlamps. "He was unavoidably detained. Being stabbed in the guts with a chair leg disagreed with him. It can happen to the best of us."

"So, I'm guessing that you don't have the Books of Ascension on you at the moment?" said Buffy. Something was sending the hairs on the back of her neck up at the moment, but she still wasn't sure why exactly.

"Give the girl a cigar," said Trick with an outright smirk. "No, my employer has them in his possession. Not that you can stop his plans now." He looked around behind them. "You know having the two of you here is a great present, but I'm disappointed that your friend Mr Harris isn't here tonight. Ah well, I get to kill him later."

This set alarm bells off in the back of Buffy's brain. This guy was seriously confident. Too confident in fact.

"Care to fill us in on your bosses' plans?"

Trick roared with laughter at this and then waved a finger at her. "This is 't a James Bond flick, sister. I don't spill the beans because I have you at my mercy. Which reminds me. You can probably smell my friends off to one side." Multiple snarls rose at this, and shapes appeared off to Trick's right, as the pack of vampires made an appearance, yellow eyes and fangs glittering in the light.

"More the merrier," said Faith with her own snarl and gathered herself ready to pounce, until Buffy reached back to grab her shoulder. "There's something else there, Faith."

Trick blinked hard and then grinned again. "Another cigar for the Slayer. Yes, I brought some friends." He raised a hand. "Trevor."

There was a shimmer in the light and then eleven shapes appeared out of nowhere, horned demons with red eyes. They were all dressed in varying t-shirts and leather trousers and they were all carrying crossbows, which they were pointing with a lot of accuracy at the two Slayers. This was bad. The vampires they could deal with, but crossbows were bad. If it was just a few each, they could dodge them, but eleven was a bit much, as Giles would say. The problem was that they were very fast. Crossbows were slow to load but they had a massive punch because they were so fast. This was turning into an icky situation.

"Trick," said the tallest and meanest looking demon, "We need to have a little talk about your definition of 'dangerous but killable', along with 'challenge'. These are Slayers."

"So what? You get to help kill them and get paid for it at the same time." Trick licked his lips. "But I get to finish them off."

"If we could do anything but observe when we're cloaked, then they'd be dead already," growled the demon. "Get it over with."

"I don't think so," said a voice from the shadows. "Guess what? The Slayers weren't alone either."

Buffy heard the familiar snap-hiss of a lightsabre being turned on and then suddenly the blue blade was whizzing out of the shadows towards the stupefied demons in a whizzing circle of energised death that scythed the heads off five of them before snapping back into the hands of the onrushing Jedi Knight.

Faith let out a battle cry and went straight for Trick, her knife blurring in her hands as they traded blows, Trick using a Bowie knife that he had pulled from a sleeve. There was a noise to one side and Oz emerged clutching his sword on the other side as Xander and then all hell broke lose as the pack of vampires erupted on them.

Buffy rolled, came up in front of one of the demons, who was still clutching his crossbow and brought up Birdy in a low humming blow that took its hands off, before removing its head with the backstroke. Feeling rather than seeing the one next to it take aim from a range of five feet with its crossbow she dodged hard and felt the air from the crossbow bolt brush her ear as she jabbed her sword upwards in a killing blow up into the demon's ribcage. Jerking it out roughly she kicked the body away and decapitated two vampires that were trying to sneak up on her.

Risking a quick look around she could see that a rush of fangfaces had driven Faith away from Trick. Not that the brunette Slayer was in any danger, from the rain of dust that was appearing around her. Faith got one at neck height with her knife, jabbed backwards with her stake to get another one, then grabbed two around her neck with her arms, pivoted back to kick an onrushing vampire in the face, flipped the two she was holding onto the floor to deal with them and then used the dust to feint to one side and stake another visitor to the party. As for Oz he was using his sword almost as well as Xander was using his lightsabre. The Jedi almost looked as if he was dancing as he smashed a path through the vampires.

Which really left the demons to worry about. Buffy could see one on its knees, as well as what was left of its hands. Turning she could see another two moving around frantically in the melee, trying to get a clean shot at one of their opponents, but not daring to fire until they could be sure of hitting something. Kinda screwy to just be armed with crossbows, but hey she wasn't complaining.

Getting another two vampires at neck height she moved in behind one of the demons, kicked it hard one of its knees in a low blow that Giles had taught her and then lopped its head off. As it died its finger tightened on the crossbow trigger, sending the bolt up into the back of a passing vampire, which screamed loudly enough to alarm the other demon, which span and looked straight at her.

"Crap," she said and dived forwards as the demon raised his crossbow in an attempt to get a shot off at her. Instead Birdy came up and made a complete mess of the lower part of a t-shirt that said: "Knight Ozzy", before causing something purple, coiled and unpleasant to erupt out of it and splatter on the ground. The demon screamed and collapsed.

Buffy came up and got another vampire, this time at chest height which was unfortunate, because although it screamed it also got her with a backhand that sent her moving backwards to slip on the purple stuff from the now dead demon and went down hard. As she looked up dazedly the vampire pulled out Birdy with a scream and then raised the sword to get her... until a blue glowing blade came out of nowhere and caught the vampire in the neck, reducing him to a cloud of dust, while a steel blade caught the one behind it. Birdy swooped through the air into her hand and then the Jedi were both leaping over her to get the vampires coming after her. Something invisible seemed to pull her upright and then she was back in the fight.

The vamps were losing their focus by now, reduced to about 15 or less, and the remaining ones were starting to look a bit panicky. Not that she was worrying much about them – by her count there was one demon left and she couldn't see it at all at the moment. Trick was hovering and somehow staying away from Faith, and where was that last damn demon?

She got her answer when she saw Xander spin almost in midair and then lunge at what appeared to be empty space. A scream battered her ears and suddenly the big demon had appeared out of nowhere, clutching at one severed leg whilst still holding its crossbow. Xander's lightsabre came up and back to deliver the killing blow but suddenly one of the few remaining vampires made a stab at the Jedi's neck and he was forced to duck, roll and slice the vampire in half before taking its head off.

It left ugly just enough time to aim and point the crossbow before the blue blade took its head off. The bolt snapped away, flying past the Jedi, past his Padawan, or whatever the name was for Oz... and into Faith's calf.

The other Slayer had just enough time to stake one vampire and get another in the neck before she screamed, a horrible sound that made Buffy want to be sick. Clutching at her leg Faith fell to the ground to writhe in agony, swearing the air blue around her.

"Faith!" shouted Buffy and moved to stand over her protectively. Not that there was any need. The remaining vampires – all two of them – were running by now, not including Trick, who was watching from one side. "Shit," said the vampire, "Harris has a pupil. Well, one Slayer out of two ain't bad." Then he was gone, running through the park.

Buffy glowered. "Xander, Oz, take care of Faith." Then she was gone, running as hard as she could after the vampire.

* * *

Oz wrinkled his forehead. "Damn. Should she be doing that?"

"Nope," said his teacher, deactivating his lightsabre and then kneeling next to Faith, who was still hunched in agony over her leg and keening with pain. "Faith? Can you hear me?" But the Slayer kept keening, rocking back and forwards over her leg. Sweat running down her face.

Xander leant down and touched her forehead and then hissed. "She's burning up." Turning he looked down at the bolt that was sticking out of both sides of Faith's leg. Then he glanced up along the road. "Late again, Giles."

After a moment the Watcher appeared, followed by his fellow countryman, Cordelia, Amy and a very flustered looking Willow. Oz sheathed his sword and walked over to his love and kissed her forehead. "No books but we made it. Although Faith's been hit."

"Where's Buffy?" asked the older Watcher with some concern. Wesley was staring at the masses of dust and demon bodies with incredularity.

"She went after Trick, the vamp that was with Kakistos but who's now working with the Mayor, Giles," said Xander. "But I'm more worried about Faith. These demons were holding some kind of crossbows and one of them got her in the leg. She's having a bad reaction Giles, I don't like the way she feels at all with the Force."

"With the what?" asked Wesley, but everyone ignored him. Oz knelt down next to Faith and Xander, whilst Giles examined the bolt as gently as he could.

"Damn," said the Watcher after a moment, "I don't like the way she's looking. Is there any way that you can cut the ends off the bolt cleanly?"

The Jedi Knight and the Watcher exchanged a long glance. "Only one way," said Xander.

Giles looked at Wesley, who was pale. "Very well."

"Hold her," said Xander as he pulled out his lightsabre. Then he ignited it. With that familiar sound the blade came out, followed by a gasp of astonishment from the new Watcher.

"How the hell..." said Wesley.

"We don't have time for this," replied Xander and then used the tip of the blade to chop off the end and tip of the crossbow bolt in Faith's leg. The second that Xander deactivated the lightsabre Giles was carefully picking up the tip of the crossbow with his handkerchief. Carefully he sniffed the piece of metal and then pulled a face.

"Some sort of poison. Damn." He looked up at Xander. "I don't have the skill to deal with this. Call an ambulance."

"Wait," said Xander and then leant over the wound. After a long moment sweat started to stand out on his own forehead. The remaining part of the bolt eased out of the wound, to the accompaniment of a scream of pain from the Slayer, but after that Faith's slow keening of pain eased a bit. However, it didn't stop. He gasped and raised a trembling hand to his head. "Damn. Healing is not something I've practiced much. Jedi healing trance, yes, but poison? No. Damn."

Oz stared at Faith's leg. Something seemed to be glowing blackly in it with the Force. There seemed to be something there, something that was pulsing along her veins. He took a deep breath and moved closer to her leg. "I can see it," he said slowly. "There's something there in the Force, something I can see. It's black."

Xander looked at him sharply and then looked back at the wound. "I think I can see it too, but not as clearly as you can. Wow, I think you have better healing abilities than I do. Try it, Oz."

Hesitantly Oz reached out to hold his hands around Faith's legs, his fingers just above her skin. Fine black filaments seemed to blossom on her leg as he looked it and he tried to imagine those filaments withering, withdrawing back towards the long wound. He couldn't do much about the wound itself – he could feel the flesh starting to rebind and rejoin as the result of the powers of the Slayers – but he could get the poison to withdraw.

Where to though? Holding out his hand he grabbed the end of the bolt that had fallen to the ground and held it next to one end of the wound. Then he concentrated with the Force, willing the poison to ebb back up through Faith's leg to the bolt end... up to the bolt end... up... up... out of the wound... up... up... up... out of the wound... up... up... up... By now he was shaking with exhaustion as the black lines thinned and vanished and a tiny globe of black moisture appeared on the end of the bolt.

After the longest ten minutes of his life, watched by the others around him, he set the contaminated thing down with a shaking hand and collapsed onto his hands and knees. "Okay," he said, fighting the need to close his eyes and sleep for a week. "That was bad. How's Faith?"

"Five by five, more or less," said the wide-eyed Slayer. "Hurts like hell, but I've had worse."

"Cool," he said, and fell asleep.

* * *

"Well, that's a new element of the Force," said Xander wonderingly. "I'm not brilliant at healing, but it seems that Oz is. Interesting. It makes you wonder..." Then he looked at Giles. "Sorry, G-Man, no Books of Ascension and we didn't even get Trick. But we did get to put a big hole in the vampire population, plus we took out those demons. I don't know what they are, but they can operate invisibly for some time. They can't do anything much whilst they're out of sight, but they might have been able to do a lot more damage if Oz and I hadn't been around."

"Well, I'll do some research about them," said the Watcher, "Although if they are what I suspect they are, then we shouldn't have too much to worry about. I think that they might be members of a breakaway sect of a quite rare demon clan, one that normally operates out of the Alps. A, a shame as the others are quite spiritual."

He paused to look at the dumbstruck Wesley. "I think that we might have some explaining to do as it is."

* * *

Trick was very fast for a vampire, thought Buffy as she sped through the park after him. He was very fast indeed. She needed to slow him down, but she didn't want to disarm herself at the same time, so she couldn't do a Xander and throw Birdy at him. Glancing to one side she swerved slightly and grabbed a short branch off a fallen log, which she weighed as she ran. Not bad.

Hefting it carefully and threw it at the running vampire's back but instead of hitting his legs she got him on one arm instead, making him stagger slightly. He looked over his shoulder at her and his eyes widened slightly at how close she was. He was starting to look a bit desperate now and he darted off to one side in an attempt to put some distance between them. Then he speeded up slightly, making for a dark shape in the near distance. As they drew closer Buffy could see that it looked like an entrance to one of the service tunnels under Sunnydale. It was heavily overgrown and had an iron grill over it, but if the vampire got into it that would change the nature of the game. Fighting a vampire in an enclosed space was never a good idea.

Trick turned at bay at the entrance and then snarled at her before pulling out his bowie knife and slashing at her.

"Didn't your mom tell you that you should never bring a knife to a sword fight?" Buffy asked sweetly as she brought Birdy up. "Now tell me what the mayor is up to so we can kill him."

The vampire grinned viciously at this. "You can't. He's invulnerable. And when he ascends in 90 days, you're all going to die. I'm going to enjoy that."

Flipping the knife around he suddenly threw it straight at her, forcing her to use Birdy to deflect it. In that split second Trick span around, grabbed the lock on the grill, pulled it off with a scream of wrenched metal and flung the gates to the tunnel open.

"Be seeing you," he said and vanished inside.

Buffy was about to follow him in when all of a sudden something seemed to move in the tunnel entrance. Then Trick screamed, a horrible noise that echoed around the walls and made her head ache. "Nooooo!!!!" shouted the vampire, suddenly reappearing on his knees in front of her. He flung himself onto his stomach and clawed the ground with desperate intensity. "Help me! It's got me!" But before the Slayer could even move whatever it was in the tunnel pulled the vampire bodily back into the darkness, his fingers leaving long runnels in the earth as he tried to get a grip. The vampire screamed again, a high-pitched sound that seemed to end in a weak gurgle and then there was just silence.

"Whoa, that was freaky," said Buffy in a very small voice. There seemed to be some form of black mist flickering at the entrance to the tunnel and she backed away carefully. "Okay, one vamp down, which is always good, but freaky new beastie in town, which is bad." Better check on the others, she thought, and then started to walk back through the park.

When she arrived back at the junction Faith was having her leg bandaged from Amy's pack by Xander, who spoke up as she approached, even though he had his back to her. "Hey Buff."

"It still freaks me out when you do that." She frowned at the sleeping Oz. "I know it's late, but why is it naptime for him?"

"He healed Faith," said her Watcher sternly as he looked up from inspecting Amy's bag. "Buffy, that was a very impetuous and irresponsible thing you did."

"Nah," said Faith, "B, did ya get him?"

"Yes and no," she replied. "I cornered him by a service tunnel in the park, where he almost gave me the slip. He dashed in and the next thing I know he's screaming like a banshee and some kind of black mist is attacking him. He sounded very dead at the end. No idea what this thing was though."

Xander jerked to his feet and stared at her. "Black mist? Did it have tendrils and stay within the tunnel?"

"I think so," she said, bewildered. "I didn't go in or anything, it was hard to see. And I'm not that impetuous, Giles."

The Jedi and her Watcher exchanged a long look. "Could be a wraith," said the Englishman eventually. "Damn."

"What's a wraith?" asked both Slayers almost simultaneously. "And did it get that son of a bitch for sure?" added Faith.

"It's a creature that feeds off negative emotions," said Giles, staring at the park with an unreadable expression on his face. "Born of hatred, fear, and so on, it feeds off them. Very difficult to kill if you aren't prepared to face your worst nightmare."

"I met one in the desert last year," said Xander. "You have to face it with no emotion whatsoever. But it was still able to appear as my darkest fear, my dark side. I beat it. Wouldn't be standing here otherwise."

"So Trick...?" prompted Faith.

"Was killed by his worst nightmare."

"Cool," said the Slayer and then levered herself to her feet, only to yelp with pain as her injured leg touched the ground. Buffy moved quickly to grab her arm on her injured side and support her.

"Come on, let's get you home. Who's dealing with the sleeping beauty there?"

Xander smiled and bent over his Padawan along with a worried looking Willow. "Hey. Oz, wake up."

The werewolf muttered something in his sleep and then slowly opened his eyes. "Damn. Tired."

"You'll be okay. Wills, get him home. He'll need to sleep, that or go into a Jedi healing trance," said Xander as he helped Oz up, whilst Willow fluttered around them both.

As the little procession made its way down the road Buffy heard a very subdued Wesley say: "Mr Giles, what the hell is going on?"

"Ah," came the response, "Remember how I said that there are a lot of surprises on the Hellmouth?"

"Yes."

"Well those two are one such surprise. They're Jedi."

"They're what?"

"Jedi. From the films."

"Mr Giles I'm not a total incompetent, I do know what Jedi are. But that's completely absurd, how can those two young men have fictional powers? What kind of spells are they using, really?"

"They don't, they're Jedi. You must have seen Xander's lightsabre clearly."

"Frankly I was hoping it was a trick of the light."

"It was dark."

"That's what I mean. The whole thing is absurd and I demand a proper explanation."

"Very well then. You're a pompous little tit."

"I meant about the Jedi claim."

"Oh, that. Ah. Well, the Halloween before last a chaos mage called Ethan Rayne came to Sunnydale..."

Buffy smiled. It sounded like the new Watcher was having his baptism of fire.

* * *

Most of the bar's normal clientele were long gone by the time that Smith came in through the door. Nodding at the barman he glanced over to the alcove where the man he had come to meet was sitting, nursing a glass of beer. As he crossed over to the alcove the barman walked up to the remaining customers and jerked its thumb at the door. "Out. Private business here."

The taller customer, a vampire by the look of him, started to protest, but stopped when the barman cracked his knuckles in a highly suggestive manner. They left.

As the barman closed and locked the door behind him, he slipped into the alcove and looked at the man opposite. He had never trusted Harry Wolfit that much, but he was the most... reliable was one word that just about fitted the bill, person that he knew of at Wolfram & Hart.

"This had better be worth my time," said the lawyer in a conversational voice. "I'm up early tomorrow for a sacrificial flaying and then in court right after that for an alimony case."

"Isn't alimony a bit... beneath you?"

"Not when it comes to the amount of money involved. Not that it's much of a challenge. The defendant won't be in court."

"He won't?"

"Of course not, who do you think we're flaying tomorrow morning?"

"Ah," Smith said, with a suddenly very dry throat. "Right. I've picked something valuable up. A week ago a waste of space called F'Varr contacted me. Said he'd found something." He reached into his coat carefully and pulled out the silver cylinder, laying it on the table in front of him.

"What is it?" asked Wolfit, looking at it curiously.

"I'd better show you, 'cause if I tell you you're going to send me to the funny farm." He carefully grabbed it and flicked the switch on the side. With a smooth buzz of power the red blade extended itself and lit the alcove with a red glow. There was a tinkle of broken glass from the bar as the barman dropped something and swore under his breath.

"You're right, I wouldn't have believed you," said Wolfit with wonder in his eyes. "A lightsabre? Is it real."

"Got something on you that you don't need?"

Wolfit reached into his jacket and pulled out a Wolfram & Hart pencil, which he tossed onto the lightsabre blade. Two clean halves fell to the floor.

He grinned at the lawyer and then deactivated it. "I take it that Wolfram & Hart would be interested in buying this thing?"

"Oh yes," said Wolfit, his hooded eyes glittering with an unreadable emotion. "Where did this F'Varr get it from? Who made it?"

"That's the problem, I don't know. The stupid little bastard was fiddling with it when he met me. Pressed the stud at the wrong time and cut his own head off. He always was clumsy. But he said that he had found it in Sunnydale and that the previous owner was dead."

Wolfit sat there, his eyes flickering slightly as he thought hard. "Well, as it's out of Sunnydale now, that means that it isn't covered by the Agreement any more... so we can claim it." He nodded sharply at the barman, who lumbered over to the alcove.

"Kill him," he said, pointing at Smith, who gaped at him.

"No, I came to you with it as soon I as knew you were back in LA and I..." but suddenly a great arm was around his neck and a hand was twisting his head, twisting it hard. There was a crack and then nothing.

* * *

The wail of a police car siren started up a few blocks away and Lindsey got up to walk over and close the window. Los Angeles was spread out before him, umpteen spots of light, splashes of colour, and blurs of movement. Fine lines crossing the city, slender filaments of commerce, crime, emotion and sometimes even the law. Filaments that led back, sooner or later, to Wolfram & Hart. He smiled mockingly, lifted his glass of whiskey in a salute to the city and turned back to the files on the table.

He had quite a few now, carefully kept here in his apartment. He dared not bring them into the office; the chance that Lilah might get her sticky hands on them was slender but still present. Sitting back down he opened the largest one, which had been copied from various sources that he wasn't supposed to associate with, not if he was a fine upstanding member of the legal profession.

Alexander Lavelle Harris, his life and times. And what times they were. Up until the age of 16 he seemed to be just another ordinary Californian face in the crowd. Mother was Jane Fiona Harris, neé Howling, housewife, former dress salesperson at a store with a very French name. Father was Anthony Lavelle Harris, under-manager at yet another chain of stores that was eventually owned by one of the larger US conglomerates. Both seemed to be under-achieving their way into middle-aged decrepitude, rather like his father.

Alexander Harris himself had a school report that seemed to predict a similar future. A straight C or D grade student, despite "signs of intelligence if he can stop smirking" according to the former Principal Flutie. Dumb name.

Then from the age of sixteen Buffy Summers had arrived and things just got screwy. Flutie had been torn apart and eaten by a pack of wild dogs that just happened to drop unnoticed into his office. The new principal was one of Wilkins' lackeys, a man called Snyder. Lindsey was willing to bet good money that Snyder was someone with massively unresolved personality issues and some form of complex that went back to his own days in High School. He certainly came over as an angry little man. Little might be a key word here. Snyder certainly didn't like Harris. Or Summers. Or someone else called Rosenberg. The Department of Education records about those three just dripped with vitriol from Snyder's busy little pen.

Even with the arrival of Summers, the Harris kid's grade average hadn't changed that much. Understandable with all the weirdness going on. But then, from about a year and a half ago, that had changed. Previously unseen things like Bs had started to appear, followed by As. A lot of As actually. Snyder, it seemed, had instantly suspected cheating on a massive scale and had put in a lot of preliminary reports "prior to expulsion". There had been a lot because it looked like Snyder couldn't actually find anything, let alone enough to make up an excuse. Harris had passed his exams at the end of that school year with impressive results, something that had continued over to this present school year. His SAT scores had been very good as well.

Something also seemed to have happened to the Harris family. Anthony Harris had been promoted once and was now in the running for the post of store manager at the moment, despite the fact that he'd been singled out for possible sacking in the past. Jane Harris had started a new job at the local bookshop. Both seemed to be dragging themselves out of their seemingly inevitable decline. Harris senior's brother, Rory, hadn't been arrested for being drunk and disorderly for an entire year and had actually gotten a job at the local lumberyard.

Then it all got really interesting. During the previous summer though Harris had been away from Sunnydale. In the desert actually, or rather in a house owned by William Harris, a rather successful businessman and brother of Anthony and Rory Harris. And this was the intriguing bit – if you looked on the map, the house where Alexander Harris had been staying was just three miles from the cave where the Cross of the Trinity had been discovered. The cave where Lilah's goons had failed so spectacularly. Quite a coincidence, that.

There was something else though. He'd been perfectly accurate when he'd given that report about the Institute and how Summers had thrown one of the guards against the security camera. However what he hadn't said – because he hadn't known at that time – was that there was another security camera, a far less sophisticated one that just took snapshots on a rather erratic basis and which had been installed by the previous owners. Two pictures had been recovered from that night – the rest had been lost when the system had finally been fried thanks to the power going down the next day.

One picture was of the Slayer. The other was off two men, the half-Brachen demon called Doyle and a dark-haired young man with a serious expression and a sword in his hand. Compared with the High School yearbook picture of Harris, the two matched. This was getting more and more fascinating.

Lindsey got up and looked out his window again. When he'd been a lot younger he once remembered reading that the Romans had had a saying that when they felt something odd, their thumbs twitched. Well, his thumbs were twitching now. He wasn't sure why, but he had a feeling that something was happening, that a new player had entered the game without anyone knowing about it and started moving pieces around the board. He let the last of the whiskey slip down his throat.

Interesting times lay ahead.

* * *

Lilah sat at her desk and glowered at the opposite wall. Holland Manners had given the Jenkins case to Lindsey. Good ol' stinking Lindsey. It wasn't right, she'd worked to get that case in. She'd done all the legwork, she'd got the paperwork in, she'd put the fear of death into the legal opposition and she'd done all the damn work! And now Holland stepped in and gave the case to his blue-eyed boy. Well, it wasn't fair. That brat of a Texan got everything. Best cases, best rewards. Sure he was good in the courtroom, sure he had charm where she preferred that slight edge of menace, but she was every bit as good as him in the courtroom.

She glowered again, her anger rising like a tide. It was so unfair! She was as good as that little bastard. No, she was better than him! She'd show him too, she'd show them all! She'd make sure that the next big case that came in, she'd wipe the floor with the opposition and then destroy Lindsey's reputation as the firm's big hitter. Her hand clenched into a claw on the desk and she smiled coldly. She'd show them all.

There was a clatter out in the hallway outside her office door, followed by a rush of voices. Still angry, she looked up. She couldn't even brood in peace and quiet any more. Getting up she pulled the door open and looked out. One of the lesser flunkies was sitting with his back to the wall, rubbing at his throat whilst the others fussed around him.

"Oh for Christ's sake, what happened?"

"Couldn't breath," said the flunkey wheezily. "Felt like someone was choking me just now. Then it just stopped and I was okay."

Lilah looked at him with contempt. "Get him out of here and down to the infirmary. And then get back to work all of you. This place isn't a hospital, we have people to take care of slackers like him. Move!"

The various people moved off, two of them helping the loser who'd choked on some dust on something. Typical, you couldn't even find a better class of flunkey any more. Lilah went back into her office and slammed the door. She had some brooding to get back to.


	23. Taking the Test

Oookay, I've got a lot of grovelling to do here. Sorry for taking so long to update this thing, but it's been an... interesting month. My boss quit and I applied for her job due to a sudden rush of some bizarre thing called 'ambition'. Very odd, no idea where it came from. I kept having visions of buying a white fluffy cat and hiring a Dr Evil costume. Most bizarre. That, plus a few other things, took up a lot of time. Then my muse decided to sod off to... wherever muses go when they need a break to generate odd plot bunnies. So all in all, this chapter kind of languished a bit. Actually it languished a lot. But now, normal service has been restored! Or as normal as anything ever is... My thanks, as always, to the ever-patient Wendy, my Beta, who didn't send mercenaries after me to drag me back to my keyboard.

* * *

The room was quiet as the two figures looked at the chessboard. A clock ticked somewhere on a wall behind them and the setting sun spread a shining beam of light through the window next to the stairs that led to the book stacks. The first figure leant forwards slightly, looked at his opponent and then frowned at the chess pieces. One of the black knights lifted into the air to hover an inch above the surface of the board and then moved forwards and then to the left. The player nodded abruptly and then the knight sank back down again.

"Your move," said Oz quietly, leaning back in his chair.

Tapping the end of his nose with one forefinger Xander considered the match in progress, before wincing slightly and looking at the doors. "Company. Wesley, to be exact," he muttered and after a long moment the doors opened slowly and the cautious face of the new Watcher appeared.

Raising his eyebrows Wesley crept into the room once Xander had nodded at him and pointed at the closed door to Giles' office. "She's in there, asleep," mouthed the Jedi carefully.

Sighing slightly, Wesley walked over as quietly as he could and looked down at the board. Then he took another look, opened his mouth to say something, closed it again and then sank into a seat next to Oz. "Interesting," he whispered. "I never thought of you two as chess players."

"Hones the mind, Wesley, encourages tactics," Xander whispered back. Then he looked at the board and the white queen swooped forwards and came to rest two squares in front of the black king. "Checkmate."

Oz looked at the board and flicked an eyebrow. "Damn," he muttered. "So much for the best of three." He looked up and grinned. "Ah well."

"Any word from Mr Giles?" asked the Watcher in a low voice.

"Angel and Faith are tracking it, apparently. Giles is getting set to undo the telepathic effects that the other demon had on Buffy. Willow's pacing around like a…" Xander glanced at Oz, who smiled slowly.

"Like a Willow?" suggested the Padawan wryly.

"Well, yes. No offence, Oz, but I've known her since way back."

"Ah," said Wesley. And then, with massive and very badly feigned carelessness: "And, and Miss Chase?"

Xander suppressed a smile of his own. The Watcher looked, in the words of Giles, like "a puppy on one of those bloody awful greeting cards" every time he either talked to or talked about the cheerleader. Talk about a doofus, it had to be almost as bad as listening to Jonathan talking about Anya. Now there was a truly bizarre couple. She told everyone how much he creeped her out, but the odd thing was that when he wasn't around she spent an awful lot of time looking around for him.

Then he frowned slightly. "Actually, I haven't seen Cordy this afternoon. I know that she doesn't have any lessons from 3 p.m. on Thursdays, but I haven't seen her around in school. I guess she goes home." He left unsaid the fact that every time he saw Cordy these days she seemed to give off both anger and guilt in the Force. He needed to take the time to talk to her about it.

The Watcher nodded abruptly and looked back down at the board. "You know, I was my school chess champion. Unbeaten in 42 matches."

Trading amused looks with Oz that Wesley didn't seem to notice, Xander looked at the board and used the force to reset the pieces. "Is that your way of saying that you'd like a game, Wesley?"

"Well, only if young Oz here is willing to let me take his place," whispered Wesley pompously.

Quirking his lips into a small smile, Oz got up and gestured for the Watcher to take his place, but at that exact moment both Jedi snapped their heads around and stared hard at the door.

"She's awake," they both said almost simultaneously and Wesley stood up with a start.

"Right, um, I'd, I'd better go and leave you to your… um… special abilities. A game or two later though, Xander?" he said, before running to the end of the table and climbing over the rails that led to the stacks. He was almost over when he caught his right foot on the underside of the railing and lost his balance before making a great one-footed recovery. Then he vanished into the back of the library where he apparently found something else to trip over, judging by the crash anyway.

Oz watched him go with a shake of his head. "If he kept his mind on what he's doing with his feet, he might be a good asset," he murmured.

"Maybe," considered Xander, and then sat down again. "Calm your mind," he said quietly. "Order your mind. Keep your thoughts on the here and now and be mindful of the living Force." I must stop quoting Qui-Gon, he thought wryly. With Buffy in the grip of a bad bout of telepathy that she had picked up from a mouthless demon, he and Oz were the only people that she could be around for any period of time. Especially as her condition was growing by leaps and bounds as she accessed the thoughts of more and more people. Well, at least they'd caught the cook before she'd poisoned everyone. That said, the mental noise coming from a school full of teenagers must have sounded like Niagara Falls, if the Falls came with added hormones and repressed sexual tension. Plus zits. It was hardly the Jedi Temple.

"Well, at least I slept for a few hours. Thanks guys, I... I... ohmigod."

Buffy was standing there at the door of the office, her eyes wide and her hair dishevelled. She was staring at him as if she had no idea at all what he was, as if he was something new and strange.

"God, Xander..." she breathed as she stared at him. "How do you... how do you live with all that in your head? Spacecraft... huge ships firing in space, are those Dreadnaughts? And, and leading men in that armour? Like Stormtroopers, but they're good, or neutral or something or... clones?"

Her eyes widened suddenly and she swayed. "Yoda... Mace Windu... Quinlan Vos... Anakin Skywalker, god what a hottie... Palpatine... oh god, I can see him before he went all gnarly..."

And then she swayed like a tree in the wind and folded in on herself in a heap on the floor.

"I think she can get past even Jedi calmness," said Xander, stunned. Then he and Oz leapt to check on the unconscious Slayer.

There was a noise behind them and Xander turned to see Faith, Giles and Angel standing there. All three looked as if they'd been in a major fight and Angel was holding something in a plastic bag that was streaked with an odd liquid.

"What happened?" said the Watcher, pulling a large mace out from under his jacket, putting on the desk and hurrying over.

Xander looked down at the Slayer. "I think her telepathy just took another incremental step forwards. She was able to see into my mind for a second. I think she found the scenery a bit... overwhelming."

"What's that mean?" asked the dark Slayer as she peered worriedly at Buffy and grasped at her knife holster in her belt. She seemed to find touching it therapeutic.

"She saw some of Obi-Wan's memories, I think," said Oz as he and Xander carefully lifted Buffy up and carried her back into the office. "She was busy babbling a bit."

"I think she saw a lot of Obi-Wan's memories," replied Xander tersely. "From what she said anyway. You guys get the mouthless meanie? Because we need to get her off this telepathy bug, and I mean now."

Angel put the bag down carefully. "We got him," he said, fingering a lump on the side of his head. "He had a few friends with him, but they kind of remembered other appointments they had to be at."

"Right," said Giles, rolling up his sleeves, "Faith, Oz, could you get the contents of the bag next to the overdue library book list? The spell ought to be relatively easy..."

* * *

Wilkins was on the phone when Allan Finch knocked on the open door. The Mayor waved him in and then carried on his conversation, while Finch read the contents of the folder in front of him and tried not to listen. You never knew what you might hear when the mayor was on the phone. Sometimes he had nightmares about that he heard.

"-no, no, things are just fine over here... yes, I heard that too. Hell, if he was dumb enough to be fooled by that cockney chump he shouldn't complain should he? I mean, a higher-level demon's supposed to be smart, not gullible! Yes, well, try him on the old astral projection telephone thing. He might answer, you never know. So how's things apart from that?"

There was a pause. Then: "Wow, already? I remember when she was first hatched, all eyes and tentacles. Sure brings back memories of the good old days. Do you remember that guy from the Temperance League turning up and lecturing that crowd? On the Festival of the Dark Blood of all days! Gee, that was a sight to see. Whatever happened to Old Varsh and that ceremonial blade of his? Very economical, that knife. No wasted blood at all. Yes, I know, they just don't make them like they used to, I guess. That reminds me, when was the last time you came over for a game of golf? We should set something up real soon. No, it's no trouble, we'll just arrange another fake chemical spill on the road next to the Golf Club and close the area off. Have your secretary call mine and we'll set something up. Not at all, it's been too long. Yes, love to the family. Take care, Newt."

The phone went down and Wilkins smiled at Finch. "It's been too long since he and had a good talk. Does the heart good to call an old friend. What have you got for me today Allan?"

Finch stood hurriedly and laid the folder down in front of the Mayor. "It looks like Buffy Summers is going to have her telepathy taken away sooner than we thought, sir."

Raising his eyebrows Wilkins glanced through the photographs and reports in the folder, before sighing and leaning back in his chair. "Ah well, that's life. That was a pleasant diversion, but on the whole I'm glad. I had to reroute my trip to open the new Science Section of the university, just so I could avoid going anywhere near her on the off-chance that she might pick anything up off me. Oh, that reminds me, it looks like Maggie Walsh, the head of the Initiative, is going to be teaching there openly. Can you get me her file again? I like her – ambition is almost like a drug sometimes, and she was pumping it out like a faucet. I wonder what she's up to in that lab of hers?" he mused. Then he leant forward and rubbed his hands together. "Well, might be best to crush the whole thing once I ascend. Better safe than sorry and they have all those damn toys down there. Typical Pentagon brass, they have no idea what they're messing with. Think that the world has rules and can be explained."

The Mayor laughed and Finch found the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end as the laughter echoed around the room. There was a look in Wilkins' eyes that he was coming to recognise. He wasn't sure if it was a human look. It was a good thing that he had his escape plan.

* * *

He always kept wondering why he did his best brooding on the roof. It was odd. It wasn't like he was turning into Angel or anything – now there was a guy who could brood! – but he always seemed to end up here. On the roof. Looking up at the stars tonight. They were familiar and yet unfamiliar. He remembered his father once pointing out the Big Dipper and Orion when he was young. And he also remembered looking up at the stars over the Jedi Temple on Coruscant, on a special platform on the roof that filtered out the glare of light from the planet that never really slept at night. Odd constellations there. No astrologers either. Heh. Good trade-off.

He paused, tilted his head and sighed. "Hi Buffy. How's the headache?"

The Slayer came into view slowly and then sat down next to him. "Almost gone, thanks to Giles and his magic mojo stuff." She paused. "Whatcha looking at?"

"The stars. Thinking about memories."

"Ok." There was a long pause. Then: "Xander, I had no idea."

"No idea of what?"

"What you have in your head. When you told me that you had Obi-Wan's memories I thought..." she struggled for words for a moment. "Well, I thought it was of Alec Guinness Kenobi. You know, all wise words and stuff. Being able to sense things. Talk about there being no such thing as luck." She smiled and then tried to project her voice deeper. "That's no moon, that's a space station!"

The smile faded. "I only saw a glimpse but... to me the Clone Wars were just a line from one of the films. To you they're a thousand bad memories. All that pain. All that fighting."

He nodded slowly. "Yep. With the bonus of knowing that Palpatine was behind it all." He shook his head. "It's not real. They're memories that belong to someone else. Someone... who never existed. Even though it all feels real. Giles still can't explain it."

"But you still feel them," said Buffy insistently, "Xander, those memories are still there in your head. They're part of you. Why didn't you tell us?"

This brought a soft laugh. Oh boy. "Buffy, I couldn't explain half the stuff I have in my head, and you've seen part of it. How do you explain seeing a Sith kill your master? Or remembering the boy that grew up to be Vader? Or... making planet fall on Alderaan and coming in to land on the main spaceport, set by the sea? Not real, but real in my head, real in my feelings. I can't watch the part in A New Hope where Tarkin blows up Alderaan. It's too painful sometimes." He winced. "How you explain fighting in the Clone Wars, the battles at Genosis and Kamino and the fight on Queyta? How do you explain fighting War Droids and things like General Grievous? I've got all this stuff in my head, as well as a roll of honour of all the Jedi who died in the war – and at the same time I know that it was all thought up by a bearded guy who lives on Skywalker Ranch? Weird and wacky, welcome to the Hellmouth."

He looked up at the stars again. "Well, I use it as best I can, to help you and Faith. Do some good with it all. Kill the bad guts, protect the good guys and try to avoid any politicians who even look like Palpatine." He laughed mirthlessly. "You know, even before I had all this stuff jammed in my head, I never liked Wilkins. He always looked slimy on those reelection posters. Now I really dislike him. He's another Palpatine. Only with a sharp suit and added demony powers. But this time we know what he is."

A silence fell and then he smiled. "Sorry, didn't mean to go all Obi-Wan on you."

Smiling back for a moment Buffy looked up at the stars with him. "Don't worry, I won't start calling you Obi-Wan. I know that Oz does now and then, but then you're training him. How's he doing by the way?"

"Good. Very good. And he'll take the test soon."

"Test?"

"Remember The Empire Strikes Back? The scene on Dagobah where Luke senses the dark side and goes into that tree, where he fights a Vader double that turns out to be himself?"

"Ummm, vaguely. I'm not a Star Wars fan, like Jonathan."

Xander smiled again, this time with more warmth. "Ah yes, Jonathan. The day he lays eyes on my lightsabre will be the day that bats fall out of eaves, or whatever they hang from, clutching their furry little ears in agony as the uber-geek squeaks."

He sobered slightly. "Buffy, a Jedi needs to face his dark side at some point in his training. He needs to work out if he can withstand temptation, to fight off the demons in his mind. Go toe to toe with the Dark Side, as it were. Giles is a big Jungian..." he caught her baffled expression and sighed. "Dead German guy. Knew Sigmund Freud. Into this shrink mumbo jumbo stuff in a big way. Apparently he thought that we all have shadows in our minds – fear, hatred, that kind of stuff - and who we are depends on how we cope with those shadows." He looked at her. "How we deal with our fears. A wraith feeds on fear, it accesses it and makes it real, in a sense. I'm going to make Oz deal with the wraith. I could do it – I did it in the desert last year – but he needs to. He won't be a Jedi otherwise. He needs to take that final step. Tomorrow night."

"So Trick was killed by..."

"By his fear. He might have seen you, or Faith, only this time he couldn't fight you. It killed him instead."

She looked at him for a long moment and then looked back at the stars. "Willow's going to freak."

He raised his eyebrows. "I thought you were going to object more."

"No," she said heavily, looking back up at the stars. "I know what it's like to make a decision that seems... hard. To... well, the fight against Angelus was the hardest thing I ever did. You know that it has to be done. And from I saw in your head, I guess you know what that's like."

He nodded slowly. "Yes. Sometimes you have to know what to do. Like I said, I could take out this wraith myself, but Oz needs to. And then... he'll be a Jedi. He's come a long way. His training took longer than mine, but then I took a trip to the desert and did the concentrated version of it."

The Slayer laughed at that. "Still have trouble imagining you doing the whole Dagobah thing without a Yoda."

"I had a Yoda, sort of."

"You what?"

"I had this backpack full of rocks, so I painted green ears on it and named it Yoda."

She laughed harder at that, and then she stopped. There was the suggestion of tears in her eyes. "Talking of knowing what to do, Angel's leaving. Once the Mayor's been dealt with that is. He says that..." She choked up briefly. "That it can't be the way we want it. That he can never give me everything that I deserve. That..." A tear ran down her face and she angrily scrubbed it away. "That he can't see me die. It was awkward enough when he came back from that... place..." She shuddered. "But he got better, I thought he was coping after the First targeted him with the memories of what he'd done as Angelus. I thought he was going to be back the way he was. Now he's going to go. Why does life has be this damn hard? Why can't things just... be? The way they are?" Her head went down again. "The way they were."

He sighed. "Buffy, you can't wave a wand and make things right again. Life doesn't come with a reset button, no matter how much we wish it did. Life... stuff happens, Buffy. I could give you some big uplifting Obi-Wan speech, but at the end of it all, we can't change what's past. Angel and I both saw you dead. We both saw Angel when he was Angelus. I'd love to get rid of those memories, but I can't. And if there was a reset button, then Oz and I wouldn't have these powers, then the Sith version of me would have done god knows what to this place, then..." he struggled for words. "We have to cope with the cards we're dealt, Buffy. No more, no less. And fight the good fight. Protect our friends and loved ones."

He paused. "I'm going to go a bit sci-fi geek here, but nothing as bad as Jonathan. There was an episode of Babylon 5 which struck a massive chord with me. One of the characters – the Centauri Emperor – said something that I've always remembered. He said 'The past tempts us, the present confuses us and the future frightens us. And our lives slip away, lost in that vast terrible in-between. But there is still time to seize that last fragile moment. To make a difference. And I intend to do just that.' It's just a line from a TV show but... it means something to me."

She stared at him for a long minute, the tear trails making her face. "I think a reset button would be a bad idea. Jedi Xander says a lot of good stuff."

They both looked back up at the stars.

"I've got to go back down in a bit. Play Wesley at chess."

"Gonna beat him?"

"Like a drum."

"That's cool."

* * *

The pub was a bit dead tonight. Odd place, a kind of Americanised version of a British pub, but nice, a bit of home away from home. He stared at the half-full pint of Guinness in front of him. Then he sighed again and drank about half of it. When he put the glass down Mr Giles was sitting opposite him, clutching a pint of bitter. "I see that you discovered this place," said the older Watcher quietly.

Wesley nodded. "The beer's quite good and it isn't too expensive at all."

Giles smiled. "Yes, indeed. I once found a bar in Los Angeles that charged me 8 for a pint of Guinness. I never went there again." He sipped from his own glass slowly and looked around the room before returning to Wesley. "You seem to be a bit despondent, Wesley."

He moved in his seat uncomfortably. Then he shrugged. "I, um, played young Xander at chess earlier this evening."

"Oh dear," said Mr Giles wearily and put his pint down on the table. "Let me guess: he beat you."

Wesley swallowed and nodded. Then he added reluctantly: "Five times."

Both of Mr Giles' eyebrows went up. "Ah," he said, quietly. "Well, he beat me hollow in the first few months. Forced me to raise my game a great deal though."

"Can you beat him now?"

"Oh yes. Well… about a quarter of the time. On a good day." The older man sighed and raised his glass to his lips for a long swallow. "Is that all that's troubling you? I mean, we're off to see Professor Worth tomorrow to discuss what he found at that dig last year, but is there anything else?"

This was a horribly pertinent question and Wesley writhed internally. "Not quite," he said and downed the rest of his pint before leaning back in his chair. Checking that there was no-one close, he leant forwards again and lowered his voice. "To be frank Mr Giles, I didn't think that being a Watcher on a Hellmouth would be quite this…"

"Bloody mad?"

"Chaotic is the word I was going to use. No, perhaps unexpected would be better. Half the time I don't know what young Faith or Miss Summers are saying and the other half I'd rather not know. Miss Rosenberg and Miss Madison are displaying all the signs of becoming powerful witches, there's a former vengeance demon moping about the school and two of the students – one of whom is a werewolf – are Jedi Knights. Oh and there's a vampire with a soul walking the streets and laying waste to his un-souled brethren.

"In addition the Mayor intends to turn himself into a pure-blood demon and the principal is under the assumption that I'm the substitute English literature teacher and keeps asking me to explain Beowulf to a group of subnormal adolescents with galloping acne. Frankly I'm not sure which of those last two prospects is worse."

Mr Giles gestured to the barmaid and drained his own pint. "If it's any consolation I know exactly what you feel. I underwent something similar when I first arrived in Sunnydale, although I admit without the Jedi part of the equation. Although at one point Buffy came very close to joining an organisation that filled me with horror to the very depths of my soul."

Wesley frowned. "I wasn't aware of that. Which one, the Order of the Seven Stars? Oh wait, they disbanded after the IRS presented them with that bill for unpaid taxes from 1783. The Assassins Guild? Not…" he paled, "The Rotarians?"

"No, but close. Cheerleaders."

"Dear God."

"Quite."

The barmaid came over with two more pints on a tray, which Mr Giles paid for. After they had both sipped from their glasses, he looked at Wesley keenly. "Can I ask what you have decided about the Council and young Xander and Oz? It has been several weeks now since you found out the truth about their abilities. I've been told that Jedi don't worry, but I can assure you that the people around them certainly do."

He nodded. He thought that was why Mr Giles was here. He and Buffy had created a very tight-knit group that demonstrated extreme loyalty to one another, a group that included his own Slayer. Faith was difficult at times and could be hot-headed and impulsive, but compared to the initial reports that Mrs Horrocks had sent the Council when Faith was first being evaluated for training, she was now much calmer and more focused, more at home with her abilities and more inclined to stand back occasionally and think things through before acting.

"As you know," said Mr Giles quietly, his eyes hardening slightly but his voice still affable, "My position is that the Council does not need to know because it's none of its business. I still can't classify this Force that the two of them use, but based on my research so far, it's never been used on this planet so far. It isn't magic and it isn't technology – the lightsabre aside – and it isn't, well, anything that I recognise.

"They both use it to help the Slayers and in fact I think that Faith owes her life to Oz thanks to his assistance. When Xander first discovered that he had some abilities in it, he came to me because he recognised the dangers. When Oz was discovered to have some abilities, his first thought was to use to suppress his werewolf side and protect the people around him. Both have displayed admirable qualities and I cannot stress how much I trust them, not to mention how proud I am of them. Physically they may be teenagers, but mentally they are not."

Nodding slowly, Wesley looked up at older Watcher. "Yes… they are both extremely impressive." Then he smiled. "It might take quite a while for you to discover the source of this Force, am I right?"

Mr Giles relaxed slightly and smiled back. "It might take a great deal of time."

"And if your research is incomplete, then there's no point in informing the Council – after all an incomplete report is no basis to form a rational and lasting opinion on the matter, is it?"

"That would be… most improper."

"Then I think that I will have to wait until your report is complete, Mr Giles. What else can I do?"

Giles raised his pint in salute. "Wesley, you're a very fast learner."

"Thank you Mr Giles," he replied and the two glasses clinked.

* * *

Professor Worth was short and smelled of old burritos and looked rather bemused at the sight of her. Faith was used to seeing men undress her with their eyes, but was rather bemused herself at being effectively ignored once Giles and Wesley started speaking to the guy. Giles had shown him some kind of ID from the British Museum and after the guy had stopped goggling - and Wesley had stopped being pompously sniffy about it – he'd talked himself blue in the face about some geological dig in some place that Faith couldn't even pronounce.

Then Giles had mentioned the remains of the creature that had dug up and the guy became massively defensive. He said that the carbon something-or-other dates had put the remains of the creature - some kind of unknown dinosaur obviously - to about 300 years ago, which meant that the wrong samples had been dated because the idea of a dinosaur bone that wasn't less than 65 million years old was ridiculous. Which was odd.

According to Dr Boring, the lava flow surrounding the body was made up of extremely vicious lava, something that Faith couldn't have heard right, but the very mention of it had given the Giles a dose of extreme wigginess. He'd stared and then asked a series of questions that had made Faith's head swim, something about ejections and tipras and other words that she didn't understand.

And then a grin had flashed over Giles's face, and he'd nodded to Wesley and then told Professor Boring that Sunnydale was not a very safe place. The guy had then nodded thoughtfully, looked as if he was about to say something, paused, muttered something about his granny telling him about the Boca del Inferno, and then showed them all out.

Once they were back in Giles' old wreck of a car, the Watchers had both grinned massively and shook hands like they'd just survived something. And Faith lost her temper.

"Okay, what the hell is going on? Why are you two grinning like a pair of cats that just caught the Tweety Bird? And what the hell was that guy talking about?"

The older Watcher smiled and started his boneshaker of a car. As he pulled out he looked back at her for a moment. "Faith, the demon that the dig uncovered wasn't killed by the lava. From what he said, from the position of the remains, it was hit in the proverbial face by a pyroclastic flow."

She stared at him. "What the hell is a plastic flow?"

"A pyroclastic flow is a, a cloud of superheated gas and ashes that is ejected from a volcano, Faith. It can move at hundreds of miles an hour, is invariably lethal unless you're underground or underwater and it's like being hit in the face by a nuclear explosion. Even brief exposure can sear your lungs and cause extensive burns to your skin."

She stared at him as if he'd gone mad. "So?"

He grinned at her again. "If the body of the demon was covered in extremely viscous lava - which means very slow moving lava - then it was first killed by the pyroclastic flow. Which means that the Mayor can be killed in his demon form. We can kill him, Faith, we can kill him."

She did the whole staring thing again. "Hello? Do you see a giant mountain blowing off near here, throwing up these plastic flow things? 'Cause if you can, I'm not seeing it."

"Faith," said her Watcher, looking pompous again, "What Mr Giles means is that in his demon form the Mayor is no longer invulnerable. He can be hurt. He can be wounded." A hard look crept over his face and for the first time since she'd met him Faith started to suspect that Wesley had hidden depths. "He can be killed."

Faith felt a grin creeping over her face. She pulled out her knife and felt the edge on it before pulling out a honing stone and starting to run it along the edge of the blade. "Cool. Now we just need to find a way to kill a sixty-foot snake."

* * *

If anyone had looked through the door, they would have thought that Harry Wolfit was working overtime again, his desk mounded with paper and files. In reality he was operating on automatic pilot, his eyes appearing to read the files, even turning pages and swapping old files for new ones, but his mind was on something else.

So far his research on the lightsabre had come up with zilch. No one had ever come close to creating such a device outside the movies, and he'd even (discreetly) made a few enquiries about private research. Nada.

Wolfit knew that he was many things – former marine, good lawyer and former family man – but he was no technical expert. He knew next to nothing about complex machines, although he could programme his VCR, something that many men his age had trouble comprehending. So when it came to understanding the incredibly technical piece of equipment that was hidden in his desk, he didn't have a clue and what was more he knew it. Rather than meddle he needed to think. He needed a honking genius.

At Wolfram Hart scientific geniuses were ten a penny. They were freaking everywhere. There were entire floors of them. Trouble was, they were all conspiring away for promotions and busy stabbing their bosses in the back at the first chance they got. If he took the lightsabre down to one of them it would get caught up in an inevitable spiral of greed and politics which would result in someone else getting all the credit and someone else ending up in hell. Literally.

That left some of the others. There were no incompetents in Wolfram Hart – they didn't survive that long. But there were some people who worked on long-term projects, long-term as in not seeing any results in that particular century. Others worked on wacky theories. And then there were the others... the misfits, odd types, nut jobs, so-called "blue-sky" thinkers, the ones who like Winston Churchill had a hundred ideas a day, but couldn't identify which one was the single brilliant one. He paused. The analogy had brought to mind... Yes, he might do...

Reaching down he opened the desk drawer to the right and then groped around. After a moment his fingers felt the button and he pressed it, feeling the wood above it move outward on silent rollers. He grabbed the wooden box and pulled it out.

Taking a deep breath he opened it and smiled at the picture of his wife and children. His dead wife and children. Dead because of Holland Manners. He repressed his desire to snarl and brushed a yearning hand over the picture instead, calming himself. Then he carefully moved it to one side and pulled the lightsabre out quickly, pushing it into his jacket pocket. Taking one last look at the picture he closed the box and replaced it in its hiding place.

Then he stood up and straightened his tie before walking out of his off. Passing down the corridor he noted the lights on the offices of Morgan and McDonald. It looked like the children were burning the midnight oil again. What fun. He resisted the temptation to put his hands in his pockets and whistle. Once he made sure that the lightsabre was safe and that the firm could profit from it... well. The children would have to find somewhere else to play. And Manners would die. Very, very slowly.

* * *

"Focus..." He was balancing on one hand, his feet together, his other hand out, his mind still. The sound of feet walking around him in steady circles was a presence but not a distraction. "Focus..."

He reached out with the Force to feel the area around him. The ground. The floorboards. The stones. The sword. He took a breath and then picked the sword up with the Force. Then the first stone. Then the second. Then the third. And then the fourth. Focusing carefully he raised the sword in the air and started to spin it slowly around its long axis, the hilt whipping around quickly. Then the first stone started to orbit around its midsection. The second looped down from its pommel to the tip and then up again. The third started to orbit at a 45-degree angle between the two and the fourth mirrored it on the other side. The stones moved slowly at first and then faster and faster, becoming first streaks and then blurs in the air.

"Good," said the now stationary figure in front of him and then suddenly and violently clapped his hands loudly. He didn't even flinch at the unexpected noise and the stones continued to whiz in their orbits. "Very good. Release."

The stones stopped, rose in the air and then fell to the ground slowly while the sword drifted over to his free hand. The Oz flexed his arm up, flipping himself up and onto his feet. Sheathing his sword he nodded at Xander. "Fun."

Xander laughed. "Complex fun." The smile faded. "Are you ready for this?"

His Padawan paused for a long moment, before nodding. "Yes."

"Lets go then."

* * *

He rounded the corner and looked in some bemusement at the line of bullet holes in the wall. Then he looked into the shambles that was a thoroughly wrecked laboratory. From the tape outline on the floor it looked like a headless man with one leg had been found there. Other tape outlines located the missing bits. Wolfit shook his head and moved on down the corridor, wincing every now and then at some of the chemical smells that can from the closed doors.

When he reached the end of the corridor he turned right into another, passed three empty laboratories and finally stopped in front of a door that displayed a large warning sign that seemed to have been signed by one Mustrum Ridcully. He sighed and knocked firmly on the door.

After a while there was a confused scuffling noise and the door opened to allow enough room for a tousle-haired head to blink at him. "Oh hi Harry," said the head and then opened the door fully to reveal a youngish man in a very dirty white lab coat. "What brings you down to the third circle of hell?"

Wolfit walked into the room and then blinked hard. It was slightly tidier than the last time he'd been here, but it still looked as if a troupe of juggling monkeys had been practicing in it. The main workbench was covered in bits of wire and other parts, along with what looked like a half-eaten pizza, while another workbench had round gold object that had been disemboweled, with odd-shaped crystals scattered around it.

"What the hells' that, Walt?"

Walt followed his gaze and then rubbed the back of his head. "Oh, just something I've been working on. I think that the object that Ulswater smuggled back from that dig in Egypt is some kinda holographic projector, so I've been taking a look at it and trying to reverse-engineer it."

"Any luck?"

"Sort of… here, hang on a second. There." Reaching down he pressed a button on the underside of the globe. It let out a low grating noise and then a beam of wobbly light shot up and then spread slightly to reveal a flickering image of a very indistinct face. A thin squeaky voice said something that was too fast to understand and then the face flashed and the whole thing shut down.

"What was that?" asked Wolfit.

"Not a clue," replied Walt cheerfully, "but it sure ain't a bomb like they first thought! It's been a nice distraction from my project."

"How's that going and are they still _bugging_ you about it?" asked Wolfit easily, jabbing a forefinger at his ear, and then looking at the object that took up one corner of the room. "Oh and what happened in Lab 46? There were bullet holes outside it."

Walt sighed and walked over to where a Bunsen burner was flickering. Turning it up and adjusting it so that it burned blue, he put it under a stand, filled a clean flask from a tap and placed it on top.

"Relax, Harry, they don't bother keeping surveillance on me anymore, not since I shorted half the system by mistake. Coffee? Okay, well the project's the same as ever. Some progress. It still sets up electrostatic fields that screw with any cameras and bugs. Not as much progress as I hoped though. I guess that the chances of creating anti-gravity on a sustainable basis that keeps the crew alive is pretty remote at the moment. Still, we might have something workable in a few decades." He pulled two mugs out and filled them with coffee from a jar.

"As for Lab 46, Shoho was working on that multi-dimensional mirror interface of his. Seems he made a teensy error with his calculations and overdid the power/flux ratio. I guess he got a bit careless and instead of creating a hole to another dimension he somehow got the interface to go back in time and grab some more dinosaurs."

"Oh hell, not velociraptors again?"

"Yeah, 'fraid so. Made a hell of a mess before security shot them to pieces and Shoho didn't make it. Shame really, he owed me 50 bucks. Ah well."

He looked up from the bubbling water. "Anyway Harry, how's life on the upper levels?"

Wolfit smiled caustically. "Same as ever."

"That bad?" Walt said as he grabbed a pair of tongs and lifted the flask off the burner to pour the boiling water into the mugs. "There you go. Milk?"

"Please." He paused. "Actually something came into my possession the other day and I'd like you to take a look at it. It's… a bit odd Walt."

This was like dangling something shiny in front of a magpie, because Walt instantly straightened up. "Odd in what way?"

"Best if I show you," said Wolfit and pulled out the lightsabre. "What does this look like?"

Walt blinked hard at it and then looked up. "Vader's lightsabre from the original Star Wars trilogy. Looks like a really good copy. By the way you're handling it, it looks the right weight too. I never took you for a Star Wars fan, Harry."

"I'm not," he said dryly and then pushed the activation button. The red blade sprang to life with a menacing hum. Walt stared at it with eyes as big as saucers and then put his mug of coffee down with a shaking hand. Then he picked up a piece of aluminium tubing and raised his eyebrows ay Wolfit, who nodded and held the lightsabre out. Tossing the tubing onto the blade Walt blinked hard again at the two pieces as they hit the ground.

"Where," said the technician, his voice squeaking. Then he tried again. "Where did you get that?"

"Contact of mine. I was going to meet him and deal with some unfinished business. He was leaking information to another company after he got greedy. Realised the depths of his mistake and was trying to patch things up. Apparently he got it from a contact of his own, who'd chopped his own head off by mistake with this thing when he pushed the wrong button at the wrong time." He shrugged. "I got this and dealt with the leak at the same time. As for where the original guy got it from..." he shut the lightsabre down and handed it to Walt, who held it as if he was afraid that it would evaporate into thin air. "He got it from Sunnydale."

This broke through Walt's stunned expression, because he looked up with a frown on his face. "Sunnydale? I thought that we couldn't go near that place? Liz Azala got all excited when she heard of it snowing in southern California a few months back and had put her team together when she found out it was Sunnydale. She sulked for a week!"

"Yes, Walt, we can't go there. But this came from there. Nothing in the Arrangement about that."

Nodding slowly, Walt ran his fingers over the surface of the lightsabre, careful not to touch the buttons. "Nice workmanship. Weird." He looked up. "What do you want me to do?"

Wolfit folded his arms and tilted his head wryly. "I can't find out a damn thing about it. Who might have built it, why, how, where... nothing. I want you to analyze it. Disassemble it as much as you like, but make sure you can put it safely back together. Initial report, then a full one. How long will you need?"

The technician blew out his breath and shrugged. "Initial report? A few weeks at least. I don't know what I'm dealing with here. I mean, the amount of power it takes to produce that beam – and the beam itself... It's too soon to say, Harry. Have to be honest, too soon to say."

Wolfit nodded. "Do your best." He turned to head back to the door and then stopped when Walt cleared his throat.

"Harry, why ask me? Why not take it straight to the guys up on the innovations floor?"

The lawyer smiled quietly and then turned to look at the man in the dirty lab coat. "Because you're not one of those assholes with ambitions to stab their boss in the back. You're your own boss down here. Because I've done favours for you in the past. Because my wife was your aunt. And because I intend to... deal... with a certain person with that thing... one piece at a time."

Walt's eyes tightened and a grim smile crossed his face. "Okay, Harry. It's a deal."

* * *

"Where's Willow tonight?" asked Xander as they walked up the road. "I didn't see her back at the library."

Oz smiled quietly. "At home. I bought her a new book. Quadratic equations. She's dealing with it."

The Jedi laughed quietly. "Ooooh, yeah. I can see those equations now, all screaming 'run away! run away!' as Wills does her stuff on them. She always was good at math."

They walked on for a bit, looking around quietly in case there were any other people around with less than noble motives. The vampire population of Sunnydale never really gave up on the chance of a snack, even with two slayers, a Jedi and a Padawan in town. Scooby opinion was divided on this, with the main consensus being that vampires were either ludicrously optimistic, or badly informed, or just really dumb. Maybe a combination of the three, mused Xander. But it was a warm, moonless night and the stars were bright in the sky again. After a while they reached the park and they stopped, staring into it.

"Ah," said Oz after a long moment. "Dark side over there." He pulled a face. "Not nice."

"Sewer with a hint of chemical factory?"

"Yup. Kind of slimy as well. Evil, anyway."

"Right," said Xander. "Let's get down to it. You know what you have to do. I have faith in you. Oz, you've come a long way. You've done a lot, seen a lot, learnt a lot. This is the next step. I can't tell you how to face your own fears – only you can do that. All I can do is say that when I met one of those things in desert it appeared as my worst nightmare. It appeared as the one thing I was afraid of becoming – Vader. That's the Dark Side for you. That's a wraith for you. If you can face your worst fear and walk out again, then you've conquered it. You've beaten the Dark Side within you."

He paused and then put his hands into his sleeves unconsciously. "I can't tell you what form that thing will take – only you can. Trust yourself. Fight it. Face it. A wraith is born out of fear and anger and hatred. If you can deal with that, you can deal with anything – as a Jedi. There'll still be stuff to learn after that, but this is the one thing that I can't really help you on. That I can't really teach you. I know you can do it. Do your best. May the Force be with you."

Oz looked at him for a long moment. "I won't do what Luke did," he said smiling. Then he pulled his sword out from under his coat and handed it over before walking into the park.

* * *

The mouth of the tunnel was dark, menacing and just screamed Dark Side. Something was also odd about it, and it took Oz a moment to realise that the light from the lamppost off to one side wasn't penetrating the entrance. It felt as if something was… waiting... inside. Watching somehow, but without eyes. He couldn't sense anything there yet, but there was a presence in the Force.

He closed his eyes for a long moment and then let out a breath. "Do or do not," he whispered to himself, "There is no try." Opening his eyes again he walked up to the dark opening, raised an eyebrow at the way that the darkness seemed to move ever so slightly and then stepped in slowly, looking around. The air felt cold, dry and dead and he found to his surprise that he could see reasonably well in a pale light that hadn't been visible outside. Which was a good thing, because he quickly spotted several sluggishly moving tendrils of black mist that were weaving their way along the floor towards his general direction. Calmly he stepped over them and pressed further into the tunnel, pausing when he saw a sad little pile of dust. The late Mr Trick, he presumed, stirring it with his foot. Odd that the wind hadn't disturbed it… but then there was no wind. Not here. Odd too. Something caught at his peripheral vision and he turned to see another black tendril groping on the floor. It seemed as sluggish as the first ones, as if it could vaguely sense him but was confused. He walked around it and then stopped dead. There was something ahead of him; he could feel a dark presence in the Force, steeped with the stench of the Dark Side. Out of the darkness ahead a figure was emerging, a shaggy stooped figure with mad eyes and snarling teeth, letting out a low growl. A werewolf. It caught sight of him and them the growl increased in volume as slather started to gather on its' muzzle and its eyes glittered greedily.

Oz had been expecting this. Of all his nightmares, the wolf that was inside him was the worst, the thing that he dreaded transforming into, the merciless thing that he could become. But at the same time it was also now the thing that he had conquered, keeping it at bay with the Force.

Reaching into his pocket he pulled out a small object. "Dog biscuit?"

The werewolf's ears pricked up and for a split second it looked very keen and as if it was about to beg. Then it caught itself, shaking its head and snarling again as it started to move towards him, preparing to pounce.

"Come on. I've got my slathering under control," he said. Tossing the biscuit in the air Oz watched as the werewolf leapt in the air to snatch it and turn it into a small blizzard of crumbs. Then it caught itself again and with a roar of animal rage leapt at him.

Using Force-assisted speed the Jedi dodged the first attack, darted back, and then caught the werewolf's clawed hands in his own and held it at bay calmly. The creature gaped for a second and then snapped at him. "I'm sensing anger management issues," he said and then pushed the werewolf backwards.

The werewolf recovered its balance and then leapt back at him, its claws flashing as it reached for his face… only for Oz to reach inside its grasp and calmly take hold of its arms at the risk and hold him away from him. The werewolf howled madly, its back legs raking at the concrete floor as it tried to gain the leverage it needed to overcome him, but Oz held it off easily. Was that really what he looked like as a werewolf? Willow said that he looked fluffy. This thing foaming at the mouth impotently opposite him wasn't fluffy at all – except in his nightmares, where it was dank and streaked in blood. Nightmares that he never had any more, not since he'd learnt to control the Force.

Sighing he pushed again and the werewolf tumbled down the corridor, where it flipped over and crouched there, snarling and studying him carefully. "I'm not afraid of you," said Oz quietly. "You have no power over me."

The werewolf snarled deep in its throat and sprang at him again, its claws reaching for his throat. Oz used the Force to slow it in mid-air and then jabbed with his hands to swing it around and send it reeling back again. This time the werewolf yelped as it hit the floor and when it came back up to crouch in front of him it looked shaken. The snarl was gone and its hands shook. It was staring at him again, staring as if it didn't know what he was. Then it seemed to flicker slightly. One second it was a werewolf and then it was black mist. Werewolf and then mist again and then... it formed into a new shape. A girl dressed in leather, with pale skin and long red hair. Willow. She looked at him for a long moment and then suddenly her eyes turned yellow, her forehead grew lumps over her eyebrows and her incisors lengthened into fangs.

Oz looked back at her. "Xander was right; your kind have no imagination," he said calmly, shaking his head. "Tell you the truth that's my second worst nightmare. And that's why I became a Jedi, to stop it from happening."

The pseudo-Willow looked confused for a moment and then came at him with a hiss of malice, one pale hand coming back to reach for his throat again – and being caught in a tight grip that made her face convulse in hatred. She struggled to pull free and when he let go she stumbled backwards again, her fangs bared in a long hiss. Oz tilted his head and looked at her with almost pity. "What did this to you? Why are you here, feeding off hate, driving people away or killing them?"

The wraith gaped at him for a moment, flickering slightly again, but then it rallied and raised its fist to flail out wildly at him. Oz dodged it easily; noticing as he did that there was a faint blurring to the outline of the fist. It's weakening, he thought as he dodged the next blow and then, as the fist came up again, he stood still, his mind empty of all emotion, his grip on the Force absolute. The cold tingling feeling as the wraiths fist passed straight through him was a little odd, but that was nothing to the look of total horror on the pseudo-Willow's face. She looked down at her hands and then lashed out again, her arm passing uselessly through Oz like so much mist. Her hands were violently shaking now and she moaned loudly and then looked at him.

The flicker was back, Willow, mist, Willow, mist, then werewolf again, snarling weakly and then whimpering. It raised a shaking claw, lowered it briefly before then slashing again at him, whimpering again at the useless gesture. It shuffled back slightly; its claws grating on the concrete floor again and then flickered again. Mist, Willow, werewolf, mist, Willow... and then a short dark-haired woman, dressed in jeans and an old leather bomber jacket. She looked about 25, with dirt on her forehead and one hand clenched at her side at a red stain. She stumbled backwards, a combination of terror and defiance on her face and Oz followed her, slowly.

"Who are you?" he asked softly, "Who were you? What happened here?"

The wraith hissed at him, her eyes glittering with some indescribable emotion, and then she looked back at something further back in the tunnel. Whatever she saw there it seemed to give her a desperate courage, because she suddenly darted forwards again to slash out at his face with her free hand. It passed uselessly through him, but she screamed with anger and tried again and again, panting with fear before retreating again a few feet. She seemed to be pulsing slightly now, or rather fading in the gloomy light and then reforming. She tried to attack again, but this time as she raised her hand she caught sight of it and she stopped, raising a violently trembling hand to her face and staring at the slow pulse of fading and reforming.

Looking up at him she moaned again and then shrank away from him, looking back down the tunnel before turning at bay again, showing her teeth as her hair fell over her eyes. Oz stepped forwards. She was dying in front of him and he wanted to know what had made her, but before he could ask she stopped and then sank to her knees. "Why..." she panted with great effort, "why... didn't... he... come? He... promised... We... were... waiting..." Shakily she looked back up at him and then clutched at her side with both hands, where the red stain was growing. "It hurts..." she whimpered, and then looked at him. "Thank you..." Then her eyes rolled back in her head and as she shook violently she started to flicker again, in and out of existence until suddenly she seemed to compress into a tiny black ball of darkness, which winked out with a sharp 'crack' of noise.

Standing there in the tunnel Oz could feel the Dark Side slide away from the place, like a dark stain being washed away by clean water. He let out a long breath that he hadn't until that moment realised that he'd been holding in and looked around. The pale light had faded and suddenly there was a breeze on his face from the entrance and he could see the faint light of the lamppost outside. Which was good, because it was rather dark in here, a darkness that was suddenly lit up at the entrance by the light from a blue lightsabre.

"I think we should have brought torches," called Xander, a wry note in his voice as he walked down the tunnel. "As not even Jedi can see like cats in the dark. Ah well, live and learn."

He stopped in front of Oz. "I could feel it start to weaken from outside. It was like... a bad smell passing. And then it just... went away. What did it look like?"

"Wolf me, at first. Then a vampire Willow. Then... a woman. Older than both of us. Leather jacket, what might have been a bullet hole." He turned and looked down the tunnel thoughtfully. "It was... odd. Asked me why 'he' never came. Said that 'we' were waiting."

The Jedi looked at him sharply and then, holding the lightsabre up, started to search the darkness. "We? She said we, but just appeared as a woman at the end?"

"Yes, she... there." He pointed to the dark shape slumped against the left hand side of the tunnel wall. As they came closer the blue light revealed a half-skeletal body dressed in a leather bomber jacket and dirty blue jeans. It was clutching a bundle and a small suitcase and from the position of one of the sleeves, had been clutching at its side, where a dark stain surrounded a hole in the jacket.

"What a place to die," breathed Oz. "She must have been waiting for someone?"

"Yeah, but that doesn't explain the 'we' comment, unless there's someone else down the tunnel. This doesn't make sense; wraiths are born from fear, hatred and other such fun stuff. One person dying down here wouldn't-" He stopped and then lowered his head. "Ah, hell."

"What's wrong?"

"Look." The lightsabre changed angle slightly and revealed two things. The first was a tarnished gun to one side. The second was the pale glint of tiny bones in the folds of the bundle. "She had a baby. She was waiting for someone with her baby. That explains the fear part. She must have been terrified, wounded, alone, afraid for the child... what a way to die." He sighed deeply and shook his head. "Well, she's away from the Dark Side now at least. I'll call Giles and have him call up Father Martinez. He's used to this kind of thing. And I'll have Willow do a missing persons search. We might be able to find out who she was and why she was hiding here. Check that suitcase first, in case she had any ID. I'll do the jacket, as carefully as I can."

Oz nodded and gently slid the suitcase away from the body. It was still in one piece but the locks had rusted slightly and he had to force the locks open. Then he stared at the contents. "Xander, I think I found out another reason she was so afraid."

The Jedi stood up from the body and came over. "Hum. A suitcase full of 20 notes. Why does that make me suspicious? Let's have one."

Oz handed one over and the Jedi held it up to the light of the lightsabre before taking it between his fingers and feeling it carefully. "A baby and a suitcase full of fake 20 notes. This stinks, and I don't mean literally." He looked sad and then straightened up. "Come on, let's tell Giles and the others. Oh, I almost forgot." He stopped and held his hand out with a wide grin. "Congratulations, fellow Jedi."


	24. Gambits

Yes, yes, I know, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa. (Ahem) This is a tad late. It was supposed to take two weeks to write and ended up at almost two months. This was because I'm an idiot. Here's a hint to all would-be writers - back everything up. Get a good spyware detector. Oh and try not to have a dodgy motherboard. All of the above happened to me, causing much anguish and interesting words. I have however learnt my lesson and am backing everything up. So. Enjoy!

* * *

Xander stared down at the small connections in his hand and suppressed a sigh. Jedi weren't supposed to feel frustration or vague annoyance at trivial things, but he was getting awfully close here. The problem with this planet, he thought wryly, is that half the parts he needed to build a remote target drone either didn't exist or were impossibly clunky. If he'd been depending on the local parts then instead of a small silver drone, he'd end up with a fat wobbling basketball that couldn't shoot straight and had to be recharged every few minutes. Which meant that he had a lot of work to do.

Well, at least it took his mind off the Mayor's upcoming ascension. He had the beginnings of a plan, but it was insanely dangerous and had one big over-reaching flaw that would doom it from the start. It was also far too complex, and that was a bad thing. If there was one thing that Obi-Wan's memories tended to stress, was that no plan ever fully survived first contact with the enemy. At least not completely intact. There were too many variables, too many things that might go wrong. So the simpler the plan the more robust it could be.

He soldered a connection carefully and put the assembly down. The rest could wait until tomorrow. He had some patrolling to do. Slipping the parts away into a drawer he stood up, picking up his lightsabre as he did. It was resting on a coiled blueprint, something that he'd been working on very carefully for a week now. Something else to take care of. Carefully, of course.

It was two steps to the window, which opened silently and then he was out on the roof of the porch, looking around carefully to sense if anyone was around. Satisfied that everyone in the area was asleep he leapt off the roof, tucked into a tight roll and landed on his feet. Another look around just in case and then he was off, walking quickly down the road.

On the whole, apart from the whole the-mayor-is-going-to-turn-into-a-giant-snake thing, things were going rather well. Oz was well into his advanced training, Willow had gained more control over her pencils, Wesley was actually starting to grow on them (like mould, possibly) and Faith wasn't worrying him as much as she had in the past. The brunette Slayer was still a bit wild and had gone through three practice swords quite quickly owing to her ability to treat them as, well, long bits of iron. However, she was learning fast. As for the others, well Giles was still Giles, Amy was showing signs of being a major magical asset and Anya hadn't skipped town yet. She was still dealing with the odd sensations of rearranging hormones whenever she was around Jonathan, even if she had no idea why. That was a pairing that made you shudder violently and then think about something - anything - else.

There was naturally a fly in the ointment however, and that fly was the atmosphere around Buffy and Angel every time the two met. If Ben Franklin had been around to do his suicidal kite in a thunderstorm bit around those two he'd have been a smoking blob of grease by now. It was scary sometimes.

Xander sighed. There was a time when he would have cheered if he'd seen Angel run out of town, preferably followed by a rampaging mob, along with pitchforks and flaming brands. Now it was all different. The vampire with a soul was fighting a battle that Xander had to admire, if only because he understood it far better now that he was a Jedi. Battling for redemption was something that could only be done a day at a time, an issue at a time sometimes. And to be in love with Buffy but realise that he had to walk away to prevent further hurt in the future…he winced as a memory bubbled up from the Obi-Wan part of him. He could understand that, even if Buffy couldn't. Not that he could explain it properly to her - it was all too raw and painful for Buffy.

As he walked along Bleeker Street he slowed slightly, looking off to one side into the cemetery there. Typical. Talk of the devil, so to speak… he reached down to his belt for his lightsabre and then took off at a run, vaulting the railings with the Force and breaking into a sprint.

It was your standard Sunnydale cemetery, much with the gravestones and monuments, but ahead he could see a small mausoleum, with ivy covering most of it with the exception of the doors, which were now wedged open. In front of the doors he could see four figures. Three were rather annoyed at the fourth, who was fighting desperately against the odds.

The first suspicion that the three ordinary vampires had that he was there was when he ignited his lightsabre and lopped the head clean off the nearest one. This naturally came as a surprise and the fight paused to allow the outnumbered combatant to nod at Xander and fall back to his side, wiping a trickle of blood away from a split lip as he did. "Thanks," said Angel and then looked at the surviving two vampires, who were staring at the humming lightsabre with astonishment.

"What the hell is that?" spat the bigger of the two, pointing at the blade. "No way is that a lightsabre."

"You might want to reconsider that, considering what happened to your dead and dusty friend there," said Xander quietly. "If you want to live, walk away."

But the two vampires were busy grinning at each other. "Sweet," said the smaller one, "I know some people in LA would pay top dollar for that thing."

The big one laughed at that. "Yeah, sounds good." He looked back to Xander. "Who d'ya think you are, man, Luke Skywalker?

"Jedi Knight Xander Harris," came the reply and then the lightsabre came around in a blur as he force-leapt forwards.

There was a blink of sound and then the big vampire stared down at where his hand used to be. "Shit," he said and then crumbled to dust as his head fell off a split-second before his companions' followed suit.

Xander sighed and shut the lightsabre down. "I take that they weren't friends of yours," he said wryly.

"New in town," came the reply as Angel brushed some of the dust off his leather jacket. "They were looking for a meal and thought that they'd got lucky. Thanks, that could have been nasty for a moment."

"Not a problem," said the Jedi as they walked back to the main road. "I'm off to run a quick patrol, before I check in and fall into bed."

"I just got up," said Angel tersely. "Overslept." He looked almost amused for a moment. "I'll take the night shift."

They walked on for a few minutes, quietly checking out the area, before Angel cleared his throat and asked, in tones of apparent unconcern, if Buffy was out tonight. Xander slowed and looked around. "Buffy's over there, about a mile away," he said, pointing east, "And Faith's over there, about the same distance," he added, pointing to the northeast.

Angel nodded slowly before looking at him. "You know, that still freaks me out slightly. I mean the whole Jedi thing."

"They both put out a big signal in the force. It's like… seeing ripples on the water. The bigger the ripple the more force being used on the surface. It's hard to explain." He shot Angel a quick sympathetic look. "Buffy says that you're leaving once the Mayor's dealt with."

Angel glanced away and then looked down at his feet as he quickened the pace slightly. "It's necessary."

"I think I understand."

The vampire with a soul stopped so suddenly that Xander almost walked past him. "Do you? Really? I don't think so."

"Hey, I've got a brain. You're practically immortal, she's not. She ages, you don't. She has to fight the things that live on the mouth of hell and you have to make sure that the thing that lives inside you never comes out. Me, I have to fight the Dark Side. My fight is a bit easier than yours sometimes." He paused. "Whatever I was before, I'm a Jedi now. I understand the concept of duty. I understand the need to look at what's going on and try to take what you hope – _hope_ - is the least worst option. And I know how much it hurts to walk away from someone you love because it's the right thing to do, no matter how much it hurts, no matter how much it makes your heart want to shatter into a thousand tiny pieces. Because at the end of the day we have to do what's right. And that's hard. It wouldn't be life if it wasn't." By now he was jabbing at Angel's chest with one forefinger. "We do what's right, or people die. It's that simple. As a Jedi Knight, I fight for those who can't fight back, but more important I know when to fight and when to talk and when to listen." Looking away he nodded slowly. "So don't tell me that I don't know what it's like."

They started walking down the road again, more slowly this time. After a while Angel looked at the Jedi Knight. "Who was she?"

"That's the freaky part. Someone I – or rather Obi-Wan – knew on Coruscant. And the memory of leaving her behind near the Jedi Temple may be a false one – but it still hurts. It still hurts."

After a long moment Xander grinned slightly. "By the way, there's a group of, oh, maybe five vampires up ahead. After you?"

Angel grinned grimly in response. "My pleasure."

* * *

Lists. Her entire life these days seemed to revolve around lists. Things to do, things to check, things to organise… it never really ended. But at least the lists were getting shorter as the initial logistical problems inherent in setting up a base were dealt with. The air conditioning in corridor twelve on level B blew hot air all over the place no matter which setting the rest of the base was on, the canteen on level D was avoided by base personnel because of consistent clamminess, the security swipe card at the main entrance malfunctioned at 8am every second Tuesday without fail, and the investigation into how a civilian had managed to access one of the secure comm lines a few months back had come up with no answers. But at least the list was shorter than before and the rest of the base was running well so far. The first real patrols were out tonight, performing basic reconnaissance. Nothing fancy, just continuing to identify the various types of HSTs in Sunnydale. Finn was leading the main team. So far he was turning out to be as good as his instructors at Fort Bragg had predicted, maybe better.

Maggie Walsh smiled. She had big plans for Agent Finn. In fact she had big plans for the entire base. Colonel Maybourne had put her in the driving seat here and she intended to make sure that she delivered on her promises. The potential reward - the development of a super soldier who could go up against the Goa'uld - was vast. As was the chance to prove wrong everyone who'd doubted her theories.

She wasn't a person who ever hummed, but she felt almost close to it as she walked along the corridor. So much to do, so much to organise, so much to plan… Then she rounded the corner and looked at the empty row of clean brightly lit white cells. Empty for now… later there would be so much to experiment on. So much to tease apart and probe. So much to re-arrange. She was looking forwards to it.

* * *

"Ah, Alan," said a voice behind him, and then Finch had to suppress a shudder as a hand came down on his shoulder. "I've got a little job for you tomorrow tonight. Something to deliver for me." The Mayor grinned toothily. "Nothing fancy, just a delivery to a courier office in the docks. There's something I need to get to a safe place before… well, before this place gets a bit too unsafe."

Finch nodded. "Yes sir, but don't you need me to confirm the arrival of the Box of Gavrok then as well?"

"No, no," said Wilkins, walking down the corridor with his arm on Finch's shoulders, "Mr Tagget is taking care of that little chore. I think we need his particular brand of expertise to make sure that everything goes off as planned there."

Given the fact that Mr Tagget was an ex-navy SEAL and a vampire who enjoyed his… little peccadilloes, as the Mayor called them, this was understating things a bit, thought Finch. He wasn't as creepy or as clever as Trick, who had been killed by the Summers Slayer, but he still gave Finch a bad case of the creeping horrors whenever he saw him.

"Of course sir," said Finch, thinking furiously. This would complicate his escape plans a bit. But he needed to make Wilkins think that everything was okay before he disappeared, so he had to go along. "What needs to be delivered?"

"Come by my office at about 4pm tomorrow and I'll hand it over then. Nothing bulky, just a package."

"Yes sir," he said and then hurried off. The odd thing was that he could feel Wilkins eyes as he walked down the corridor and he suppressed another shudder. This place was making him paranoid.

As he approached his office he made sure that he didn't look over his shoulder or do anything that made him look even remotely suspicious. Instead he opened the door, strolled to his desk and spent the next ten minutes typing up a request for more lavatory paper for the men's toilets in City Hall. The old lot kept vanishing. Actually an awful lot of stuff vanished. Three thousand paperclips had disappeared the other week, along with what appeared to be miles of string, paper, electrical wiring and all kinds of things. The kitchen staff had complained that the tips of their washing-up gloves had been cut off the other day, which was just strange, and food kept turning up in odd places under floorboards. He'd mentioned it in passing to the Mayor, but all that Wilkins had done was mutter something about the damn Nomes being back again. Odd, that.

When he finished the memo he printed it out, put it in an envelope for internal mail and then put it on his secretary's outgoing mail pile, before grabbing his coat and slinging it over his shoulder. "I'm off for a sandwich," he said as he passed her, "Do you want me to bring anything back for you Ellen?"

She smiled and shook her head, as she always did and he walked out of the office at exactly 12.29pm, as he always did, striding through the doors into the sunlight and taking a very deep breath of air. It was a nice day, he thought, and crossed the road, looking both ways carefully. It never hurt to be extra careful in Sunnydale.

After walking for two blocks he turned a corner and then entered a small café, where he waited patiently in front of the counter to be served. Eventually a small dark-haired woman nodded at him. "Your usual, Mr Finch?"

"Thanks Mary," he smiled and then waited while she assembled everything for his Parma ham and salad sandwich, which she then made in front of him. Handing over the right amount of money he took it when it was ready, walked out again, down another block to a small park, where he sat on a bench in front of a fountain and ate his sandwich slowly and watching the pigeons beat themselves up for his crumbs. By the time he had finished it he was satisfied that no one had followed him or was now watching him. After working for the Mayor for any amount of time you picked up certain things.

Then he pulled out a cell phone, dialled carefully and waited. When someone on the other end answered he started to speak. "Rupert Giles? My… name is Alan Finch. I, I work for the Mayor. Reluctantly I must say. I have some information for you. It comes with a price though. I want out of here."

* * *

He was in the middle of a report on the trade negotiations between two demon tribes that had the unnerving habit of decapitating unsuccessful negotiators when the phone rang once. He looked at it sharply. A moment later it rang again, once. He leant back in his chair and stared at it. If this was the signal then… yes, right on schedule the phone rang once again. Harry Wolfit smiled briefly, picked his jacket from the back of his chair, picked up a folder to feign looking busy and walked out of his office, walking with just enough of a scowl to show to the world that he was on his way to kick someone's ass off the face of the planet.

This time, when the lift reached the right level and he stepped out, there was a distinct smell of sulphuric acid and the odd sensation that there was a little too much static electricity in the air. Turning a corner he slowed to step over a body bag, nodded briefly at a harassed member of the medical staff and walked on. They were damn good and deserved every penny. True they were on call almost 24/7, but they were a vital part of Wolfram & Hart's machinery.

Just before he reached the door he tripped slightly and dropped the folder, giving him a chance to check behind him as he gathered all the papers back together. Then he straightened and knocked briskly at the door. There was a pause before it opened to reveal the dishevelled figure of Walt, who was holding a complex tool with some kind of set of blades at the end. He glanced down the corridor at Wolfit and then opened the door all the way and nodded his head sharply. "Harry."

Wolfit strode in as Walt closed the door. "What's with the smell out there?"

"Cho almost broke through to the Dungeon Dimensions again. Something with a hell of a lot of arms and eyes almost grabbed him and now he's up on the next floor filling in all the paperwork for the stuff that was needed to weld the hole closed again. That's the third time this month and if he's lucky he'll just get a reprimand." He shrugged. "Well at least it wasn't that psycho chest with the little legs again. That still gives me the creeping horrors."

"How's the project going?" asked the lawyer. "The golden globe thing?"

"Ah that. Really weird power supply on that – those crystals again. I got Anderson working on them – he was working on something else from the dig that looked like a staff, but which had some kind of power source in it. Badly depleted though."

Walt reached out to the odd machine and fiddled with it for a moment. Something groaned deep inside it and then the flickering hologram reappeared in the air above it, showing a picture of a girl of about 15 or 16 with Middle Eastern features and a look of homicidal cheekiness. This time the voice was deeper and at a more normal speed as it spat something guttural and metallic sounding.

"What was that?" asked Wolfit, bemused.

"Not a clue," replied Walt cheerily. "We've got linguistics working on it, but so far nada." He paused. "Anyway…"

Turning to his still magnificently cluttered desk he opened a drawer carefully and pulled out the lightsabre, which he handed over with a certain wry reluctance. "There you go." He tugged at a stack of paper and pulled out a report folder. "My initial report. There'll be a full one in a week or so."

Wolfit took it with his eyebrows raised. "Fast work."

"Yeah, well, I've been reminded how much I don't know. That damn thing raises more questions than answers." Perching himself on a stool he shrugged. "Quick and simple summary? Whoever put that thing together just rode a pickup truck through at least one of the laws of thermodynamics. Basically it's made up of four major elements. There's the control panel and outer surface first – and that's the only normal thing there. Some kind of titanium alloy that the Air Force uses I think, and standard circuits. Nothing special."

He raised a finger. "Then when you open it up it gets interesting. The power cell's weird. It's like no design I've ever seen and it's both efficient and freaking small. Powerful too. It's made of parts you can get in any good electrical store, but like I said the design is weird – very advanced. Sets up an incredibly efficient feedback loop that's so advanced that I still can't believe it. Makes the best one available look like a cheap battery.

"The superconductor is the next odd bit. It's a modified version of something that the Army uses. Heavily modified, almost as if the most advanced superconductor the US Army has wasn't good enough. It's got some kind of array attached with crystals that I don't understand, but which seems cools it down. I'm running a trace on the base part – don't worry, I'm using a massive amount of camouflage on the trace. If anyone thinks to track it back they'll think that it came from a supply sergeant on a base on the East Coast. And then there's the ruby. Whoever got that must either have a stack of money or they lifted it from somewhere that hates publicity, because it's worth a hell of a lot of cash and no-one's screaming about it being stolen." He shrugged again. "That's the basics anyway."

Harry looked at the lightsabre and nodded thoughtfully. "Any idea about who made it?"

Walt shook his head with a grimace. "Sorry, Harry. But I did see something screwy. On the inside of the casing there were a series of symbols etched into the metal. I did some checking and it turns out that it's the alphabet used in the Star Wars films. I got out a source book and translated them. There are two sets, forming two words. One says, "Willow". Other one says "Padme".

"Padme?" repeated Wolfit, frowning.

"I went looking for that on the 'Net. Apparently it's going to be the name of Luke Skywalker's mother in the prequels that Lucas is making at the moment." Walt tilted his head and pointed at the lightsabre. "Whoever made that thing is more than just a fan Walt. There has to be some kind of connection there."

Wolfit nodded slowly and then carefully slipped the lightsabre into his pocket. "Good job, Walt. Let me know when the main report's ready."

"Will do, Harry." The scientist paused for a moment. "You going to try it out on you-know-who?"

The older man flashed him a grin. "Maybe." He moved to the door and opened it. Sniffing he looked down the corridor. "That smell's stronger. I thought you said that the hole was welded?"

"It should be, but sometimes things leak through because of some space-time crap thing." Walt sniffed at the air as well and then looked slightly worried. "Okay, it should be safe. But if you hear the sound of hundreds oflittle feet behind you – run like hell."

* * *

The vampire smiled at the redheaded girl in front of him, in the process showing a lot of yellow teeth and exposing her to yet another case of possibly terminal halitosis. "I like a bite to eat early in the evening, something to keep my throat wet." The smile became a grin.

"Oh please," said the girl dryly, "Of all the lines to use that's the lamest. Do I look like someone stupid enough to walk around the streets of Sunnydale without protection?"

"What?" asked the vampire, looking confused. It obviously didn't like having its taunts go unnoticed.

"Hi," said the girl brightly and pulling out a pencil, "I'm a witch. Oh and meet my boyfriend the Jedi Knight."

"Boo," said a voice behind the vampire and it spun just in time to get a sword in the neck that decapitated it cleanly, exploding it into a shower of dust a split second later.

"The standard of taunting is seriously going down in this place," said Willow, in mock-sadness. Then she looked back up at Oz. "Hi, what kept you?"

"Giles had a phone call," said Oz, kissing her. "Wants us all to meet in the library in an hour. Once Faith and Buffy have had their sword fighting lessons though."

* * *

The figure didn't scurry. She wouldn't have known how to scurry even if she'd been given scurrying lessons and a reason to scurry. But she did move with a slight air of furtive haste, not that she would have admitted that at all. She went down one corridor, turned into another and then looked through the windows on the library doors. Satisfied she opened one and moved in, walking with more self-assurance now.

"Hey, B, Giles, JX," said Faith as she approached them at the table. "I gave Wesley the slip back there for twenty minutes. He thinks I'm getting some food. So what's the programme for tonight's short-notice bit of training that you mentioned?"

Giles smiled and tossed a practice sword at the younger Slayer, who caught it in the air and twirled it in a complicated move around her body before winking at Buffy, who was looking impressed. "Practice makes perfect, B," she said.

"It certainly does," said Giles, hefting his own practice sword carefully. "Tonight, though, you have a new sparring partner." He threw the sword at Xander, who caught it and bowed playfully at Faith, who paled visibly.

"Um, do I get a head start here?"

Giles and Xander looked at each other for a long moment before they both grinned. "Nope," said the Jedi Knight, "Let's see how much you've learnt."

"Okay, five by five," she said and then things got complicated. Xander exploded into the air in a Force-powered leap that saw him pass over her head and land on both feet behind her. She span and was just in time to parry a blow that would have hit her back.

"That was sneaky, JX," she said through gritted teeth as she tried to force his sword back.

"Bad guys don't play by nice guy rules," he said before pulling his sword back and making her stagger slightly due to the pressure she'd been putting on her own sword, a stagger that he used to push her away. His sword came out and around and once again she was only just in time in parrying it. Then she blew the hair away from her face and grinned before pulling back and launching an attack of her own, trying to force him back towards the wall, trying to use her superior strength.

But every blow she aimed at him seemed to be absorbed and countered, as he moved with equal speed to meet her attacks. Slayer-speed. "Hey," she protested, "No fair – cheating with the Force!"

"Bad guys don't play by nice guy rules," he repeated and then slashed out again in a series of attacks that had her back-pedalling across the floor as she simply tried to stop him from hitting her with the blunt edge of the blade. It was easier said than done and she could feel the sweat start to form on her forehead and drip down her face as she desperately parried.

"Screw this," she rasped through dry lips and then tried to counter attack, following up with a kick that should have caught Xander in the right knee if he hadn't moved out of the way in time. He raised both eyebrows and then nodded approvingly. "Sneaky yourself," he grinned and then came at her again, his sword flashing. There was a shimmy as it seemed to wrap itself around her own weapon and then suddenly it was skidding across the floor before she felt a blow that brought her feet off the ground. She tried to move her feet back down in time, but she was falling now and the floor was coming up and… everything slowed as something invisible grabbed her and stopped her a foot from the ground.

"Okay," she said, "You got me. Give me a hand?"

Xander grinned at her and then made a gesture with his fingers. Whatever was holding her moved her back upright. "I know you too well Faith. You'd just take my hand and try to throw me." Then he looked at her more seriously. "You were good though. Well done."

"Lasted longer than me," said Buffy in tones of deep disgust. "And I thought I was getting good at this stuff."

"Really," asked Faith in tones of faint smugness. "How much longer?"

"About three seconds," said Giles dryly as he threw a towel over at her and puncturing her smugness completely. "You've both come on in leaps and bounds against me, so I thought I'd give you a real challenge." He paused and then smiled at them both. "And you did better than I anticipated."

"Giles, he beat us both without breaking a sweat," complained the brunette Slayer as she wiped her face with the towel.

"Yes. You were fighting a Jedi Knight, don't forget. And there will be times when you fight demons – or people – who will have a natural advantage over you. So never get arrogant – never think that you know it all. A little humility is a valuable commodity. Never think that you know it all, because in my experience there's no such thing as a perfect fighter. There are just fighters who either constantly strive to learn, to, to push the barriers of what they know, or there are those who regard themselves as being perfect and then die when they meet an opponent who is, to their very brief and terminal shock, better than them." He fixed them both with a piercing glare and then jabbed an index finger in their direction to emphasise his words. "Arrogance can get you killed, Faith, Buffy," he said then clenched his fist. "So you'll be sparring with Xander more often. Look. Listen. Watch. _Learn_."

Faith ran her hands through her sweaty hair and then caught Buffy's eye. Then they both slowly, reluctantly, nodded. "Okay, Giles. JX will be the man to beat. Any other news by the way?"

This brought up the inevitable Giles-like reaction, which consisted of the Watcher taking his glasses off and polishing them. It was something that the others now took for granted, although it did mean that he was going to deliver what was possibly very bad news. Or just news. You never knew with Giles.

"Willow and I have been looking into the identity of the corpse that Xander and Oz found in that tunnel, the one that had become a wraith. We might have a lead, so to speak. Willow brought up the initial lead and I've been doing some checking of my own on the, uh, 'web', which is oddly addictive once you know where to look. It's most disturbing."

Xander frowned. "The news is disturbing?"

Replacing his glasses the Watcher smiled. "Ah. No. Sorry, poor choice of words. I meant that the way that I've become used to that infernal machine is disturbing. I even found the BBC news website, so I've found a bit of home away from home. Ahem." He looked a bit embarrassed and looked around. "It might be worth waiting for the others. Faith, how long will it be before Wesley gets here?"

The younger Slayer rolled her eyes and winced. "I told Mr Tweediness to meet me here at 9. And… that means he'll be here in ten minutes. Joy. Not."

"Good," said Giles. "That means that I can also tell everyone about a very interesting conversation I had earlier today with the deputy mayor of Sunnydale who, I believe, wants to get out of town in a hurry. And he wants to provide us with information that just might stop the Mayor's ascension in its tracks." The Watcher leant back in his chair. "All in all, not a bad day's work."

They stared at him.

"Details, Giles, details?"

"All, all in good time, Buffy," said the Watcher, with a distinct grin on his face. "After all, Patience is a virtue."

Buffy looked as if she had sucked on a lemon.

* * *

"Hey there campers, and welcome to Caritas! You know, it's great to see so many of you here tonight, and I just know that we're going to be hearing a lot of good music as we go through to the early hours. So I'd like to kick off the evening with an old favourite of mine, and I know that it's one of yours too. A bit of Sting!"

The Host launched into the opening lines of "Fields of Gold" and Lindsay McDonald looked into his glass of bourbon bleakly. It was his first of the night and so far it was untouched. He had a nasty feeling that if he drank it another three would soon follow, and singing whilst drunk was never a good idea. For one thing the Host tended to be snarky. For another this could be a tough crowd if the regulars heard a duff note, and the more you drank the better you sounded in your own ears. Unfortunately the rest of the world heard you through ears that were not glazed over with alcohol.

He touched the guitar that was slung over his back meditatively and sighed. Caritas was now one of the few places where he felt… at ease. You couldn't go far wrong with music. He closed his eyes for a moment and shuddered. That led to questions about what he was doing wrong at the moment, and issues that he was trying not to think about. Independent thought about morality was not encouraged at Wolfram and Hart. At least he'd won his last three court cases. Nothing major, nothing that was too controversial, and all three had been very lucrative for the firm. Holland had singled him out for praise, praise that Lindsay was starting to think was unmerited. It wasn't that he didn't deserve it, it was just that…

He grimaced. He couldn't put his finger on it. Something felt wrong with his life. It had since Sunnydale. He should, strictly speaking, have taken all the data that he'd collected about Harris to Holland by now and told him that something odd was going on there, that Wilkins had pointed out that there was a potential future problem there for Wolfram & Hart.

And there was something there. Whatever had happened to Harris, it was major. Something had turned an under performing high school student into a hardworking scholar and, it seemed, demon-killing warrior. But he didn't know what it was or why it had happened. Lindsay sighed again. He'd put in a request to trace any odd magical activity in the area around Sunnydale a year and a half ago. The chances were that he'd get several tonnes of records, but it would be worth it to look.

He paused and, lifting the glass to his lips, sent the bourbon scorching down his throat. Then he stood up and walked up to the stage. Time to sing. Time to block out the world for a while.

* * *

The screen beeped and then a picture of a dark-haired woman appeared on the monitor. She was smiling at someone off to her right and was wearing a fairly attractive dress that hinted a tad more than it revealed.

"That's her," said Oz, sounding sad, and Willow squeezed his hand consolingly.

"Her name was Suzanne Morecombe," announced Giles to the assembled Scooby Gang. "And she was, well, quite well-known. She was the secretary to the chairman of the 2nd Sunnydale Savings & Loan from 1983 to 1985, a time when savings and loan operations were imploding all over the USA. She was well-connected, popular, and had no links to organised crime that anyone at the time could find."

"Why should she have links to organised crime?" asked Buffy, looking puzzled.

"Because at the time that was the theory behind her disappearance on June 18th, 1985. Well, I say disappearance, but she'd barely been seen for months before that. She was linked to…" Giles nodded at Willow and another picture appeared on the screen, this time of a tall man dressed in a tuxedo and looking almost handsome in an oily-looking way. "This man, Councillor Matt Stevens, who was a part of Mayor Wilkins' administration. Apparently they were quite the couple, being seen at all the best social functions in Sunnydale. He vanished at the same time that she did."

"But based on what, um, Oz said that he saw, they didn't go together," said Wesley.

"Yes and no," said the older Watcher. "She vanished completely, not being found until now. Mr Stevens on the other hand reappeared, in a manner of speaking. He was found dead in the desert to the south of here, although lacking large parts of his skin along with, well, other parts."

"Other parts?" asked Faith, raising her eyebrows.

Giles shifted slightly in his seat and looked intensely uncomfortable. "Yes, well, let's just say that if in the unlikely event that he'd lived, he would have been singing soprano."

"Ah," muttered Angel and Xander almost simultaneously, before all the men in the room shifted in the same way that Giles had as they shuddered at the thought.

"Just after they vanished the 2nd Sunnydale Savings & Loan collapsed, owing frankly vast amounts of money and the police were called in to investigate what they later described as massive fraud. No-one ever found Ms Morecombe who, it turned out, had given birth to a baby girl in a private clinic on the outskirts of Sunnydale a week before she vanished. The birth certificate is missing, but it might be safe to assume that the father was Matt Stevens. No one ever found out where Stevens had been before his death. And no-one ever located the missing money, but based on what Oz said the wraith told him before she died, there might have been a link between the two and she might have been waiting for him with the baby and some cash, although why it was fake is, again, unknown."

Giles paused. "It's a rather sad and pathetic trail, but it might explain why a wraith was formed at the spot where the two of them died. She must have been desperate, although the matter of who shot her remains a mystery.

"As for Mr Stevens on the other hand, based on a picture that Willow was able to drag up from the autopsy and which I won't show you because I don't want her to faint again…"

"Eep," said the redheaded witch faintly.

"Yes, well, I think it would be safe to say that he was part of a ritual sacrifice, although I can't hazard a guess as to who he was sacrificed to. What I would say was that he seemed to have made some very powerful enemies and it is more than possible that the Mayor might have been involved if, as we theorise, he is so heavily involved in the mystical history of Sunnydale. Not to mention the fact that Stevens was a part of his administration."

Willow looked up. "Giles, where did you get all this information? It wasn't on the Internet!"

"No, well, I went down to the public library and looked it up on the paper records and the microfiche." He looked at the blank expressions surrounding him. "Oh bloody hell, I did the old-fashioned way, alright?"

There was a small pause and then Xander cleared his throat. "Okay… right. You said that you had other news as well?"

"Oh that, yes. I had a phone call today from one Alan Finch, the deputy mayor."

This was enough to get everyone's attention as they all straightened up and stared at him, with the exception of Buffy, Xander and Faith, who had heard that part before.

"How he got my number I can only guess, but he said that he had some information that he wanted to tell me and that it pertained to the Mayor, um, 'changing', and that it would help the Slayers. He said that something called the Box of Gavrok will be coming in tomorrow night and that the Mayor won't be able to ascend without it. I've carried out some initial research and I have to say that he's right – an ascension has to be carried out with the preliminary help of the Box, which contains, well, certain spider-like creatures that have to be ingested to provide… um, well, I'd rather not go into the next part, being a bit of an arachnophobe. He wants to meet me tomorrow night before the Box arrives in Sunnydale."

Buffy raised her eyebrows. "And then?"

"And then he'll us where it's coming in and we arrange to get him out of Sunnydale. He seemed to know that we suspected that the Mayor is planning an ascension, but he said that he'll tell us everything he knows if we get him out." The Watcher leant back in his chair thoughtfully. "He seemed to think that if he left town the normal way, that the State police would be used to track him down under the pretence that he is a dangerous criminal. And would know a great deal about what the Mayor has been up to over the past few years. So," He sat up again and fixed them all with a grim smile. "In the off-chance that this is going to be a trap I think that we should take some precautions. Buffy, I want you, Faith and Angel to meet him tomorrow night. Xander, you and Oz are to be in reserve in the area, just in case, along with Willow and Amy. Wesley and I will meet you all once we've met this Finch chap and ascertained that he's clean. In the meantime we continue our reserve into the rituals that rely on the Box of Gavrok. Tea anyone?"

* * *

Richard Wilkins walked along the corridor, still dressed in his golfing outfit and with a song in what passed for his heart and a spring in his step. Yes, walking normally had its advantages, but it was going to be interesting to work out how to slither. Apparently it came naturally once the change happened, at least according to the texts that he'd read, but it never hurt to think about these things.

He rounded a corner and saw Mr Tagget up ahead. The vampire had a file in his hand as he broke into step with the Mayor. A good… man, for want of a better word, Mr Tagget. Reliable. Not too ambitious but he had enough in the old brain department to suffice. Shame he didn't smile more. At least on duty that is. Pity, because as his old mom said, a smile will get you far in this world.

"Did you have a good game of golf sir?"

"You know, I did. It was just a great day out there, the sun was shining, the birds were singing and I beat the tar out of my opponent 6&5. What do you have for me?"

"It looks like your suspicions about Finch were correct. He's been surreptitiously packing in his apartment. He might be about to flee Sunnydale."

Wilkins paused at the entrance to his office. He'd been right then. Poor old Alan. Not a patch on his father and grandfather. Ah well. As the deputy Mayor he couldn't just have him killed outright as well – the post had its own legal protection laid down by Alan's predecessors and there were also certain magicks and family oaths of loyalty that meant that Alan Finch couldn't be directly killed by his order. But there were ways around that. Indirectly killing him was more than possible. At least he had everything covered there. Plus it would be a bonus to get rid of that damn packet. He'd been… well, not nervous, but a tad concerned about it ever since he'd bought it. Still, two birds with one stone though. Maybe three if his other suspicions were correct.

"Very well. Send Mr Finch in so that I can tell him about his errand tonight. When he's gone I want to talk to you in my office. The Box of Gavrok will be coming in by road tonight. You're going to meet it. Oh and Mr Tagget." The Mayor's eyes glittered. "If you have any… friends in Sunnydale tell them to stay well away from the docks tonight. Something bad is going to happen to them otherwise." He grinned again. "Very bad. But worse for Mr Finch."

* * *

It was almost time for English Lit and Buffy was hurrying down a corridor when a hand came out from inside a room just in front of a junction and hauled her in. She whirled with an outstretchedfist and then relaxed as she looked into Xander's face as he held up a finger to his lips. "Shush," he whispered. "Snyder."

Sure enough she suddenly heard the sound of scurrying feet in the corridor outside, followed by hard purposeful footsteps that were accompanied by a snarky voice that asked various people why weren't they in class yet. After a moment the unnatural force that was Principal Snyder passed on.

Buffy peeked around the corner to see the Principal disappear around a corner and then grinned at the Jedi Knight, who smiled back. "Wow, Xander, that is still just so cool. Does Snyder ever see you anymore?"

They passed through the doorway and out down the corridor. "Well, not much. He still thinks that I cheated on my SATs somehow and occasionally he'll arrived in class and spring a spot test on me, but I think that I'm starting to freak him out. He's just a natural… well, control freak with a set view of the world." He paused outside the classroom that they were both due in. "The weird thing is that once we graduate from this place I'll almost miss matching wits with him." He caught her look of bemusement. "I said _almost_, Buff."

* * *

He paused outside the office to straighten his tie and calm the butterflies in his stomach before he went in. He couldn't give anything away now. Not now. He was too close to getting out of this Hellhole.

* * *

His inbox never really seemed to run out of memos, he mused thoughtfully as he looked at it. It had always been a complicated business running a town, and as the years and decades had rolled by, then the number of regulations and ordinances and things to file had increased. And although it had its disadvantages, it also had its benefits. Sometimes the lawyer's way could be the best way, although death was still the best way for the other times. Ah well, at least it meant that he always had a good grip on the reins of power. It helped to know where everything was. Including the bodies.

Wilkins picked a memo about the design of the new trashcans and nodded quietly. Yes, it was all in order and he pulled out his best pen to sign it. He was going to miss Alan – the man was very good at all the minutiae like that. But he wasn't going to need anyone after his Ascension, and frankly Alan had been going to pieces for months now. He knew too much. Plus he needed a holiday. And death was the ultimate holiday from the trials of life. You never got to come back for a start.

There was a soft knock and he looked up to see Mr Tagget at the doorway. "The deputy mayor is here, sir," he said quietly.

"Ah! Send him in please." Alan Finch appeared, looking slightly peaky. What a shame, he was nervous. Ah well.

Wilkins smiled genially. "Alan, good of you to come. Now then…" He leant over and rummaged in his desk drawer. After a moment he found what he was looking for, a smallish package which he handed over the desk. "I need you to run an errand for me. This thing is a gift for an old friend of mine that I'd like kept safe in case things go a little wild after my ascension. I'd like you to take it down to a place just off Sherman Street near the Docks. The address is here." He held out an envelope and smiled internally when Finch took it. That primed the trap. All he had to do now was set the timer. "Now this place has somewhat odd hours as the folks who run aren't exactly… normal shall we say. So I'll have a car pick you up from here at 9 and drop you off near the area. I want that package kept very safe, Alan. I'm relying on you." The last part was said with a sincere smile that hid the tears of laughter he was just aching to burst out.

His mind obviously working very fast, Finch nodded. "Yes sir. Any other instructions?"

"No, in fact why don't you take the rest of the night off."

"Thank you sir," he said and left.

Wilkins watched the door close and then counted to sixty slowly, before muttering a few Latin phrases in a low undertone while looking intently at a small gem that he'd been holding in his free hand. When it glowed once with a murky green light he nodded sharply and then walked into his bathroom where he laughed until he couldn't breath. Tonight was going to be fun.

* * *

"Hey B," drawled the dark-haired girl as she picked the dirt out of her fingernails with her dagger. As she walked out of the side road where she'd been waiting she cast an eye over her fellow Slayer, who was looking severely bummed as they walked down the hill towards the Docks. "What's up with you?"

"Mr Spurling's springing a surprise English test on us tomorrow, according to the rumour monkey. Something about Julius Caesar. Stupid Romans."

Faith laughed. "That's another reason why I don't miss high school that much. Too much work and not enough play makes for dullness," she said, shrugging. "Although I could do with the training stuff with Giles if I'm gonna be the first one to beat JX at swords."

"Hey! What makes you think that you're going to be the first to beat him?"

"Natural talent. What else?" She looked at Buffy with a crooked grin before the blonde finally broke down into giggles.

"Chain yanker," said Buffy accusingly and then stiffened, looking off to one side. "Hey Angel," she said quietly.

He appeared out of a patch of deep shadow, his face set and slightly furrowed. "Buffy. Faith," he said tersely. "Good to see you. You heard from Giles and the others?"

"We're good to go," confirmed Faith, sighing inside. The way that these two made with the tortured lovers act would break anyone's heart, she thought sadly. But it would be way dumb to interfere. She'd learnt that much from her time in Sunnydale. Sometimes you had to think things through for a bit. She preferred her old "want-take" approach, but she was starting to see that it was a bit too short-term. And she didn't want to end up a vampire snack like Kendra. Horry wouldn't have wanted that.

"Okay!" she said, breaking the silence that had descended on the trio as they walked down the road. "Let's go talk to a snitch."

* * *

The black car purred down the road slowly, came to a junction, paused slightly and then moved on, turning left. After a few hundred yards it slowed completely and the right hand rear door opened to reveal a very flustered Alan Finch. He closed the door and watched the car draw away, moving off into the night.

He shivered. The driver hadn't said a single word after asking his name at the town hall and had just driven him in complete silence down to the Docks. There had been an odd sheen to the skin on his face, as if it had been stretched a little too much. He certainly hadn't been human, that was for sure.

Finch looked around. Swings and roundabouts, as his mother used to say. On the one hand he was without his car and his things, not that he could have gone very far with them once the Mayor knew that he had defected. On the other he was reasonably close to where he had arranged to meet Mr Giles' people to escort him to meet the Slayer's Watcher. The timing was good as well. He reached into a pocket and pulled out the Mayor's package. What the hell was he going to do with this thing? Deliver it? After a moment he replaced it. It might be something that Mr Giles would be interested in. He walked off down the road, never seeing the brief green flash that came from the package in his pocket.

* * *

"How come they always make stakeouts look like fun in the movies?" grumbled Faith to one side as they stared out at the T-junction.

Buffy frowned. "I thought that stakeouts were always shown as being very boring," she objected. "Unless you're Richard Dreyfus in that film that is. Euw, old guy alert, don't want to think about that."

The other Slayer chuckled slightly and then stopped. "Over there," she breathed. Buffy turned her head slightly to look over at where Faith had gestured. Sure enough she could see a guy walking furtively and trying to look in all directions at once. He was wearing a suit and looked nervous. More importantly she couldn't sense anything inhuman about him or the nearby area.

"Guy looks as if he's gonna wet himself," quirked Faith and then looked over at their companion, who was staring at the man and frowning. "You okay Angel?"

The vampire started slightly and looked at them, rubbing one temple as he did. "No. Yeah. Um, I feel a bit weird. Got this headache that started a few minutes ago. Feels odd when I look at the guy, but I've no idea why."

Buffy and Faith exchanged glances and then looked back at the man, who was standing on the junction, looking even more worried than before. "Are going to be okay?" asked Buffy. Angel smiled tiredly and nodded. "Okay then."

As they walked across the road the man stopped fidgeting and looked at them as if he was about to run, before relaxing slightly. Getting closer they could see that he was youngish, thin and as Faith would say, freakin' nervous.

"Ah," he said as they approached. "I guess I should have expected it to be you three. I'm Alan Finch."

"You three?" repeated Buffy. "You know us?"

"Of, of you. The Mayor's got files on you all, Ms Summers. And you Ms Morgan, and Mr… Angel. Is Mr Giles nearby?"

"We're gonna take you to him," said Faith, exchanging the Slayer version of a worried stare at Buffy which was no more than a flicker of the eyes. "You packing anything?"

"What?" he asked puzzled.

"Weapons. Do you have any?" she said slowly.

"Oh. No, I don't. You can search me if you like."

Angel nodded and moved up to quickly pat the man down, the frown on his face growing slightly. "He's clean," he acknowledged.

Buffy relaxed ever so slightly. "Okay, let's go." As they moved off along the road she turned her head slightly. She could have sworn that she could have heard something. Shaking her head she joined the others, touching the sword slung by a hoop over one shoulder for reassurance. Aquila. She had to call it Aquila. That was its proper name, not Birdy, even though Birdy sounded nicer.

They'd walked no more than a few hundred yards when she first knew that they had company. Something was moving up ahead, walking in a stiff way towards them. "Guys," she muttered. "Something feels wrong about this." They kept walking, moving over across the road, but the figure just stopped for a second and then started walking towards them again. It was wearing a green coat of some sort and she couldn't see its' face… but then again perhaps that was a good thing, because it suddenly stopped and growled at them. From the way that the green coat was shimmering and rustling she could tell that it was something more like wings, while its face was twisted and ridged, with fangs that were not made to eat delicately at all. It growled again and then lunged in at them.

Three things happened at that point. Buffy dived off to one side, tugging Aquila out of its sheath and then jabbing it upwards beneath the demon's ribcage. Faith pivoted and let her dagger fly from her hand and sink into its neck. And Angel caught Finch, who collapsed like a folding sack.

The demon growled again, more messily this time as green blood dribbled out of various orifices, still staring ahead of it and then slowly collapsed. Buffy stared down at it and pulled Aquila out smoothly, before retrieving Faith's dagger. "Okay that was weird. Short but sweet. Angel, is that guy okay?"

Angel looked up, a frustrated glare on his face. "He fainted."

"Wow. For a guy who works for an evil boss, he's a real pussycat." Then her head came up and she sniffed the air. "Uh-oh."

"You said it, B," ground out Faith, who was cleaning her dagger on one of the fallen demon's wings. "We got a lot of company." The conscious three looked around. Shapes were appearing around them in the distance. All were non-human. All were walking stiffly. And all were converging on them.

"What is this, a zombie impersonation convention? Why are these guys all making with the Evil Dead lurch?"

"I don't know, but let's bug out. Too many to fight and besides we need to get this guy to Giles." Buffy turned to see Angel hoist the unconscious Finch onto his shoulder in a fireman's lift. "Let's run. See if we can lose these creeps."

They ran into the night, as the slowly growing crowd of demons, vampires and others followed them.

* * *

"Oz will be along in a bit. He said that he had to drop the van off to make sure that the band got their things back," said Willow, pouting slightly.

This brought a bemused smile to Xander's face. "You want him to rush back so you can hang around the docks in the dark with him and run backup for Buffy and Faith?"

"Yeah," she said sighing. "A chance for small smoochies too. It's kinda hard to have a love life if you're always vanquishing evil all the time."

Amy rolled her eyes. "At least you have a love life, Willow. And with the Prom coming up my options are worse than limited. Looking for an articulate date who doesn't grunt or faint is getting difficult."

The Jedi raised his eyebrows. "Okay, that opens up a topic of conversation that I'd like to close down as quickly as possible." He paused. "By the way, I don't think that Jedi Knights attend many Proms. I'm going to have to think this one out."

He paused again but this time to frown. Something was walking down an alleyway to one side of the road and by the way that it felt it wasn't human. He was right – as the figure came into view he could see that it had a distinctly non-human grey tinge to its skin and claws. Plus a big honking horn in the middle of its forehead.

Willow and Amy made eeping noises and he pulled his lightsabre off his belt. He didn't ignite it though as he was picking up really odd signals coming from the demonic whatever-it-was. Instead of charging or doing demony things it just stood there in the light of the flickering streetlamp before turning its head to stare down the street. Then it lurched off, stiffly at first but then faster and more fluidly as it picked up speed. At no point had it looked at them or even registered their presence.

"Well that was… creepy," breathed Amy.

"You've no idea how creepy," muttered Xander. "I couldn't sense much in the way of thought coming from it – it felt all wrong, like something was in control of it, or pulling it."

A scraping noise from further down the street made them all turn to one side. In the middle of the road a drain grating was being pulled to one side by a pair of hands from underneath it. Once the opening was clear then a dark figure – a vampire by the feel of it – emerged haltingly. It paused, swaying slightly and then took off down the road in the same direction as the grey thing. It completely ignored them as well. Furthermore it looked rather unvampire-like, moving in a somewhat jerky way, as if it had had too much coffee and not enough sleep.

"This is getting creepier and creepier," the Jedi said as they all stared down the road. "Okay, I'm-" A pair of meaningful coughs came out of the night, "-Okay we're going to check this out. I've never seen nastier members of the underworld act like they had their brains replaced with tofu and I don't like it."

"What about meeting Oz? And Buffy?"

He smiled. "Buffy and Faith are in that direction," he replied, pointing off down the road. This brought another frown. "Hmmm, same direction as the things that go bump in the night. Coincidence? As for Oz, he'll find us." He clipped his lightsabre back onto his belt. "The Force is with me."

* * *

"Damn it, more of them!"

"Road ahead's blocked, B, no way through. Where are they coming from?"

"I don't know… wait, wait a second. Up. See that fire escape on that place?"

"Yeah. What if they follow us though?"

"We kick some of the ladders off as we go up. Gotta be four or five stories up and we can catch a break up there."

"Five by five with me. You okay Angel?"

"This guy's heavier than he looks. But yeah. Head still hurts, but let's do it. They're starting to irritate me."

"Same here." Buffy took a deep breath. "Let's go!"

* * *

"Does anyone else have a really bad feeling about this?" whispered Xander as he looked around the corner carefully. Seeing the milling crowd at the corner of the street he looked back in time to see a very pale Willow and Amy glance at each other and then nod wordlessly at him.

"That's what I thought," he muttered and then turned back again to stare at the collection of monsters. Okay, this was freaky. They looked as if they were all looking at something. Or towards some odd general direction. And they were giving off a really freaky feeling in the Force, as if they had _all_ had their brains replaced with tofu.

Easing back he thought quickly and then nodded down the road. "Okay, we very carefully go around them. Back down the street and then cross over into that alleyway fast. That should give us some space and get us reasonably clear." He looked at the pair of witches sternly. "If I say run you run, and no arguing, okay?" More nods as they moved out quietly, passing down the side of the building to a point where they could see that the alleyway was empty.

Xander paused to check that nothing was down there and then ran across the road clutching his inactive lightsabre in one hand whilst he kept an eye on the assorted demons as they milled around. All were still staring at that one point in the distance. He shrugged mentally and then beckoned for the others to follow, first Willow and then Amy.

"What are they looking at?" hissed Willow.

"Beats me," replied the Jedi. Then he paused. "Oh hell. They're looking in the same direction that I can feel Buffy and Faith. This is now officially not good." He tensed suddenly and then just as quickly relaxed as he heard quick steps running down the alleyway. Turning he saw an unflustered Oz approach.

"We have a lot of company," his former Padawan said, raising an eyebrow. "There must be a hundred assorted vampires and demons around the corner."

"Snap," said Xander. "We have something similar over here. They all looking off to one side?"

Oz nodded. "Towards the Slayers."

"Right," said Xander as he reached into his pocket for his cellphone, "I'm calling Giles to report a major freaky occurrence." He hit speed dial, raised the phone to his ear and then carefully peered around the corner at the still unmoving crowd. After a moment the steady rings from the number that he'd dialled gave way to a noise that sounded as if the phone was half dropped and then briefly juggled against some cloth, before a rather harassed voice said: "Hello? Xander?"

"Giles, we have a bit of a situation here in the Docks, off Halsey Avenue."

There was a pause and another odd noise that sounded as if the phone was being passed from one ear to another before Giles replied. "Let me guess, a large crowd of demons and vampires, all staring at a fixed point in space?"

"Got it in one."

"I think I can see the edge of it now. It seems to be growing, but I have no idea what could be attracting them."

"Neither do I, but I know what they're looking towards – our Slayer girls."

"Bugger."

"I'll see your bugger and raise you a bloody hell. I've got Wills, Amy and Oz here with me and they're all safe."

"Good. I've got Wesley here with me, so I presume that Angel is with Buffy and Faith. This is looking distinctly unpromising. I think that-"

However, what Giles thought was never revealed because suddenly the crowd was moving, first away from Xander and then suddenly back towards them as the blip in the Force that he could feel from Buffy and Faith suddenly approached at what could only be described as Slayer-speed. The thing was that they seemed to be above them and the two startled Jedi both looked up to see three dark figures leap over the small gap in the buildings far above them. One of them seemed to be carrying another person. Flashing overhead they kept heading south along the rooftops of the warehouses.

Followed by the crowd, which was now flowing straight down the street.

Quickly Xander turned back into the alleyway, and ignited his lightsabre. "Oz, you guard the other way! Wills, Amy, you stay between me and Oz and do your mojo when I say go!" he barked and turned to face the opening to the street ahead.

The noise of running and even shuffling feet swelled around them, along with the occasional clop of hooves as the demon horde approached them. Xander calmed himself and raised his lightsabre into the third advanced defensive position. He didn't have much room to swing in the alleyway and he quickly checked over his shoulder. He shouldn't have worried; Oz was in the same stance with his sword.

The noise swelled still further and then suddenly figures were darting across the mouth of the alleyway, first a few and then a torrent of fast-moving figures that passed down the road, all looking up at the roof tops. Some had horns, others had odd-looking eyes, one was eyeless and wore a motionless black cape, and that was just the ones that he could see. On and one they went and then suddenly the torrent ebbed and then dribbled off entirely, with just the slower – and more heavily armoured – puffing by. One looked a bit like a bipedal rhinoceros. Once the last was past, Xander looked around to exchange baffled glances with Oz and the others.

"Well that was weird," said Xander and then led them cautiously out to the road. The crowd was just visible in the distance, but was starting to slow as it reached a junction. Xander shut his lightsabre down and looked around to see Giles and Wesley, both clutching swords and panting rather badly.

"What the bloody hell was that?" cried the older Watcher.

"A lot of monsters," replied Xander tersely. "And they were following Buffy and Faith. Angel as well, along with some unconscious guy. They blew right past us, Giles and the freaky thing was they seemed to be following them with their eyes, like they knew exactly where they were."

He winced slightly. He could feel an odd combination of emotions from the two Slayers, like a combination of frustration and uncertainty. "Giles, even with my lightsabre and Oz's sword, plus everyone else, there are too many of them for us to stop. Even Jedi can be swamped by superior numbers." Images and memories from the Battle of Genosis were flashing through his head, including that terrible battle in the arena against the horde of 'droids.

"We need to find a place to hole out and work out what's going on with that crowd of things that go bump in the night. And we need to get the Slayers down from that roof, otherwise they're trapped."

"I agree," said Giles, staring down the road. "But that might mean that we trap ourselves."

"None of the options look good at the moment," said Oz. He paused. "There's the old factory building on the corner there. My dad used to work there before it closed. Isn't too run down and the windows are boarded and barred. The Dingoes checked it out a few weeks back for a gig, but the power was out."

"I can take care of that," said Amy. "That's an easy spell, creating light."

Giles looked around and then nodded sharply. "Right, Willow, Amy and Wesley you all get back there and open it up. Xander, Oz and I will work out some way of getting Buffy and Faith down – as well as telling them that we're here." He paused. Willow and Amy were already running for the building, but Wesley was still hovering. He looked undecided. "What's wrong Wesley?"

"Mr Giles, technically that building is private property and… I'll shut up now shall I?"

"Please do." Giles turned and looked down the street. "Now… shouting won't work and the nearer we get to that crowd the worse our chances. Do you think that you can contact them with the Force?"

Xander looked at Oz, who raised his eyebrows. "No, Giles. They'd need to be Force-sensitive to do that. But you can try and raise Faith on her cellphone."

This flummoxed the Watcher, who smiled weakly and scratched the back of his head. "Do you know that I keep forgetting that she had one?"

"Well, we need to have a word with Buffy as well about getting one. Her mom can help as then she'll know if she has to get in a bulk load of nachos."

"Good point," said the Watcher, fishing his cellphone out of his pocket and hitting speed dial.

* * *

"This is not looking good, B, not looking good at all," said Faith as she peered over the side of the roof at the crowd of nasties below. It was one ugly bunch down there, literally. "Yeuch, there's something trying to slime its way up the side of this place. Good thing all that gross stuff on the wall is counter-sliming it." She looked up and grinned, but Buffy could sense the tension in her fellow slayer. This was not looking good. At all. The three of them plus the Finch guy, who was still off with the fairies in dreamland, were stuck on top of the building, with a bunch of really nasty assorted things below them, all staring in their general direction.

She turned to look at Angel, who was still pale and who was still rubbing his temple. "You okay?" she asked softly.

"Still a bit off. Like something's trying to call me but all I'm hearing is static." He looked down at the unconscious Finch. "Has to be related to us meeting this guy. Has to be. Something happened back there and it has to be related to the monsters that turned up."

"Have to agree with the A-man, B," said Faith as she crossed over the roof and looked at the assembled horde on the other side of the building. "Whoa. I think they just broke the door down on one side. We're gonna have company real soon. We need a plan."

"I know, but wherever we go they go. It's like they know where we are all the time. We need to-" She paused and then raised her eyebrows as a cellphone went off. Faith looked startled for a second and then pulled at a pouch on her belt to reveal the ringing device.

"Hello?" she said as she answered it. Then: "Hey G-man! Yeah, I know, bad habit from JX. Um, we're on a warehouse roof in… oh. You're where? Shit, we must have passed you! Uh, it's a bit bad here, Giles, it's like being in Monsteropolis, if it existed and I think we're gonna have company soon. Yeah, she's here, so's Angel and the Finch guy. What? No, he passed out. Had a shock when he saw a demon with more ridges than the Rockies. Yeah, here she is." Faith handed over the phone.

"Giles, how come Faith has a cellphone and I don't?"

"Because she asked the Council for one and you didn't, Buffy."

"Oh. Well, if we get out of this okay, then I'll ask for one. In the meantime we have a bad case of the wall to wall demons here."

"We know, we saw. You passed over Xander and the others when you were making your rooftop escape, but you don't seem to have shaken them off."

"I know, and I'm finding their attention a bit freaky."

"Xander and Oz are sensing something odd from them, and from your location, so my theory is that there's something there with you that's attracting them. We need to get this sorted out quickly I think."

"B, they're getting in the other side!"

"Okay Giles we might not have much time here. Whatever it is might take us too long to work out and-"

"I know Buffy. Xander's found a warehouse north of here with thick walls and good doors that can be barricaded, so I think we have a fallback position. It's a warehouse on Johnson Street. Head back the way that you came and make it down to street level as fast as you can. Xander and Oz will be there. Xander says to just jump and to trust him. He and Oz will take care of everything." He paused. "For god's sake be careful Buffy."

"We will Giles." She turned the phone off and looked at the others. "Let's go guys."

Faith darted back from her post on the opposite wall and spread her arms in a gesture of bafflement. "Where too, B?"

"Back where we came up."

"We kicked out half the ladders so they couldn't follow! By the time we climb down they'll have caught up with us!"

"Xander and Oz are back there," she said, with what she hoped was the right amount of confidence. "They'll catch us."

Faith looked at her for a moment, before she licked her lips and replaced her dagger in the sheath at her side. "Let's do it then."

* * *

"Remember Yoda here: size matters not. This is going to be the most that you've ever moved with the Force, or rather the most you've ever influenced. Don't think about how difficult it is, just believe in the Force. And in yourself. Hold them, slow their fall and just concentrate on that," said Xander as they stood off to one side of the building.

"Yes, Obi-Wan," said Oz, looking in the same direction as he was, feeling with the force as the two Slayers, the unconscious man and the vampire with a soul sped towards them over the rooftops of the warehouses. "Is this another Dagobah moment?"

Xander paused. "Yes. But this isn't an X-Wing we're moving, it's four people. So it's lighter, but at the same time they're going to be moving at speed, so that makes it trickier. You need to open yourself up fully to the Force, feel the moment, judge when to grab them in the air. You take Angel and Finch, I'll take Buffy and Faith." He paused to quickly look at his fellow Jedi Knight. "The Force is with us Oz."

Snapping his gaze back to the building in front of him he snapped: "Giles, go. We're on it. You get back there with the others."

Giles paused and then nodded, looking quickly down the road at the approaching demon horde before taking to his heels towards the warehouse which was now lit by a pale glow inside as Amy and Willow did their mojo.

Xander exhaled slowly and then opened himself fully to the Force. Closer… closer… he could hear the faint thunder of feet along the roads to each side of the row of warehouses now, along with the odd feeling in the force that the demons let off.

And then three running figures, one carrying a fourth appeared at the top of the roof of the last warehouse and launched themselves into midair. Xander's hand shot up in a twisting gesture that he could feel Oz imitate as he reached for the two Slayers with the Force, feeling their trajectory, slowing them, pulling them, holding them. They were falling now, but he used the Force to slow them still further, using their momentum to work with the Force. He raised his hand slightly, using the Force more strongly now, using it to slow their fall, to slow them to the point where… Buffy, Angel and Faith's feet met the ground. They all stared at Xander and Oz for a stunned moment then they were off, running towards them. Xander let out a deep breath, grinned at Oz, whose chest was heaving slightly possibly more from relief than effort and then the two Jedi were also running, allowing the others to catch with them as they all sprinted towards the open doors of the warehouse, where Giles and a stunned Wesley were waiting.

* * *

"Xander, have I ever told you how glad I am sometimes that Ethan Rayne had that lightsabre prop that Halloween?" gasped Buffy as they ran through the doors and skidded to a halt.

"Not as glad as I am," replied Xander, looking around as the Watchers closed the doors and locked them. "That isn't going to hold guys, hang on…" He looked around and caught sight of a steel bar before using the Force to raise it in the air and make it fly across the room to wedge it between the door handles. That was start at least. "Oz, we need to get more stuff behind the doors." His words were backed up with a dull booming sound as the horde of demons slammed against the outside of the factory.

Buffy watched with some relief as the two Jedi worked to secure the doors, before something struck her. "Uh, guys, have you checked for other exits in here?"

"S'okay Buffy," said Willow, walking up quickly, "All the windows are barred and shuttered and the back door's okay."

There was a groan from one side and everyone paused to stare at the recovering figure of the Finch guy. "What happened?" he slurred.

"We met you, demons showed up and now we're kinda stuck trying to work out what happened," she said tightly. Finch looked panicky.

"It wasn't me, I swear, the Mayor doesn't know I'm here. I, I was going to meet you but I didn't tell him, I'm not that mad or anything. I was doing an errand for him here, but I figured that it was a good thing that it was in the same area that I was going to meet up with you."

Giles stared at Finch with an odd look on his face before straightening and moving over to glare at him. "What kind of errand? Did Wilkins give you anything today, anything at all?"

The Deputy Mayor gaped at him for a moment, his face still slick with nervous sweat. "Just… just a package to be delivered. He said that it was very important. I didn't open it because that's always a bad idea with anything to do with Wilkins – the guy before me had half his face ripped off by something in a box when he looked at it at the wrong time."

"Show me this package. Now!" Snapped the Watcher urgently, casting an eye over at the main entrance, where Oz was busy wedging another piece of machinery with the Force to block a window next to the doors.

Fumbling into his pockets Finch produced a package about the size of a man's hand, which he carefully handed over to Giles, who raised his eyebrows and then beckoned Wesley over. Then he carefully tore a corner of the package open and peered inside. After a moment he stiffened. "Bugger."

"Mr Giles?"

"Hang on a moment…" Giles told his fellow Watcher and then he opened the package up more fully and reached inside, to finally pull out a wooden box, the surface of which was covered in carvings of fanged skulls. Whatever it was, it made Giles go white, while Wesley jerked back from it as if it was a very angry snake, his eyes going wide.

Giles licked his lips slowly and then carefully bent down to place the box on the floor, before looking up at his fellow Watcher. "I think that we both know what this is."

"Indeed," croaked Wesley. "I thought that they'd all been found."

"Evidently not," came the dry reply. Then Giles looked up at Finch. "I think that Wilkins knew that you were about to betray him. This is, for want of a better phrase, a booby trap. It's a Karren Box."

"Which is what?" snapped Buffy, looking worriedly at the doors. The noise outside was getting louder and the way that the doors were now starting to bulge inwards was concerning her. Xander and Oz were busy moving more things to block the entrance, but she was starting to worry about how much time they had left.

Giles abruptly stood up and started to look around. "Willow can you look around for any water here? And Amy, I think I saw some dirt over there by the back entrance. Can you get some for me please? I'll have to provide the air and the blood for this, I think." He looked at Wesley, who was still staring in horror at the box. "What?"

"Mr Giles, this thing is incredibly evil and I don't think that elemental magic will-"

The older Watcher interrupted him with a gesture. "Wesley, Room 42 at the British Museum has come across two of these things and has the procedures in place to deal with them."

"But the Rite of Yuuu is long and complicated and requires-"

"The Rite of Yuuu is a bloody anachronism, man. There are faster ways to take care of this thing." He paused to look at the doors, which took that moment to groan horribly. "Much faster," he said, pulling out a knife with a wickedly sharp looking blade before kneeling down over the box and starting to mumble what sounded like Latin in a low undertone. After about half a minute the box made a clicking sound and then opened to reveal a large green gem, which glowed with a sickly light.

"Ah," said Giles with grim satisfaction. "Just as I thought. A Karren Gem." He looked up at the others. "They were made in the 12th Century by a, a magician named Karren who was, well, gifted, evil, horribly inventive and rather paranoid."

"Sounds like most bad guys over the years," said Xander, as he and Oz backed away from the now bulging doors with their new bracing. "Giles, whatever this Rite is, do it fast because we are running out of options just as fast." He ignited his lightsabre, which sprang into life with its distinctive hiss.

"Yes, I am trying Xander. He hated the possibility that some of his apprentices might turn out to be a tad better than him, so he tended to give his more gifted pupils a present in the form of a gem."

"I'm sensing that there's a catch coming up here," said Buffy as she and Faith stepped to join Xander and Oz to form a line between the others and the doors, which were continuing to creak.

Willow reappeared holding a mildewed cup in her hands, while Amy came running back from close to the creaking door with a clump of dirt and what looked like ash. Giles looked into the cup, which contained a lot of green scum and presumably some water and nodded sharply. "Excellent. What? Oh yes, Buffy, you might say that they were booby-trapped. Each gem was magicked so that when a certain time or distance had past between the former apprentice and Karren, it activated and became, well, incredibly attractive to demons and vampires. Any kind of demon and vampire in fact, who wanted to get close to it. And in the process rip apart anyone who stood between them and it."

"That explains my headache," breathed Angel, his eyes going wide with shock as he stepped away from it. "But why hasn't it got me?"

"I suspect that your soul is acting as a filter, so that what should be a compulsion is instead a vague longing." Giles paused and then swiftly ran the blade of the knife over his palm, causing a swift hiss of pain. The blade came away bloody and then the Watcher started to mutter more Latin, his eyes flickering to the increasing strain on the doors.

"Giles, they're coming through real soon!" shouted Xander and Buffy and Faith darted forwards with Angel to form a line in front of the older Watcher. Wesley paled and stepped forwards to join them. "I concur with Jedi Harris, Mr Giles," he breathed.

Giles nodded abruptly, before muttering more Latin. Then: "Willow, Amy, I want you to drop what you have onto the gem when I say now, and not before, do you understand? Good."

The Watcher thrust his unbloodied hand over the gem and muttered another long phrase in Latin, which ended in a great cry of "Nullio!" Then he reached down to blow gently over the gem, which pulsed slightly.

Almost in answer the hinges to the main doors groaned horribly and part of the metal bar locking them bent audibly, as the piled up machinery shook and fell away from the impact. The doors shuddered again and a hand could be seen for a second scrabbling against the lock before vanishing.

"Willow, dribble the water onto it now!" ordered Giles and the redheaded witch nervously bent forwards and let the water drip down onto the gem, which pulsed again.

"Amy, sprinkle the earth onto it," said the Watcher, who started to mutter more Latin as the blond witch did as she was told. The gem pulsed more weakly this time, as if something was dying inside it and the Watcher smiled grimly.

At that point all hell broke loose. There was a great crack as the crowd outside gave a collective heave and both the lock and the hinges failed catastrophically. The doors flew in and down and the crowd of demons and vampire flowed in behind them and over the barricade, eyes gleaming with the same odd green light as the gem, hands outstretched towards it, claws out, fangs prominent, a surging tide of monstrosity.

"Nullio!" roared Giles again and then let the blood from his bleeding palm spatter against the gem as he held his hand over the open box.

Something seemed to rumble and shake the entire building as the gem flared up with an unearthly scream for a split second, the sickly green light pulsing and then dying completely into a dull ember of light that swiftly faded. Something seemed to shoot outwards from the darkened stone, like a clean breath of air clearing a fetid room.

The reaction was impressive. The crowd went from a run to a complete halt in an eerie unison, the clatter of feet, hooves and other unmentionable things halting abruptly and leaving vague echoes from the walls. The nearest monster was literally a lightsabre's sweep away from Xander, who had paused cautiously.

There was a long pause and then one of the vampires blinked. "Where the hell am I and what the hell just happened?" he asked in disbelieving tones. Then he caught sight of the line of people in front of him and froze, his eyes flickering nervously between the two Slayers and the humming lightsabre. "This is sooo not good," he said quietly.

Behind the vampire there was a collective shaking of heads and a confused babble of voices was going up, a babble that quickly died away as the assorted monsters noticed the other people on the factory floor.

A red-faced thing with odd tendrils suddenly pushed its way to the front and snapped: "What happen? I at poker game with four Aces, now I here! What happen?" Then it caught sight of the green gem in the box on the floor next to Giles and its face turned even redder. "Karren Box!" It shouted, making the room echo. "Who brought Karren Box? Thing evil! Kill man who brought! Who brought!"

Giles cleared his throat. "It belonged to Mayor Wilkins."

The crowd went very quiet while the red-faced thing paled to a dull purple colour. After opening and closing its mouth a few times it finally said: "Oh. I go now. Maybe find poker game again. Bet more kittens."

"You do that," said Buffy cheerily, "Only without the kittens, whatever that means. Anybody else got any questions?"

"Yeah," said a voice at the back, "Why don't we rush them? We've got the numbers and…" The voice ground to a halt as the lightsabre came up with a menacing hum and both Buffy and Faith assumed fighting positions. Behind them there was a sudden flare of light as Amy thoughtfully hefted a fireball on the palm of her hand, while several pencils rose in the air around Willow.

"Any volunteers?" asked Oz quietly, assuming in the same stance as Xander.

"Yeah, come up here and say that," mumbled one of the vampires in the front row. Then it looked at its watch and did a terrible impression of a genial smile. "Oops, got to run." Then it was pushing backwards into the crowd, which was already starting to inch away towards the door in a number of nonchalant ways. After a few seconds mass panic set in and the assorted demons came very close to jamming the doorway with their bodies. Fortunately the crush didn't last long as the various monsters quickly scrabbled their way clear, with one even running through part of the wall and soon the Scoobies were on their own.

Giles let out a long breath and pulled out a handkerchief, which he used to mop his brow. "Well that was the proverbial close call. We were most fortunate there." He smiled at them all. "Well done, all of you. We'll get back to the library in a bit. But first, Mr Finch, we need to have a word with you about the Box of Gavrok."

Licking his lips nervously Finch nodded. "It's coming in tonight. On a ship called the Weatherwax. I think it's docking at Pier 10. I copied the Mayor's instructions." He reached into his jacket and pulled out a slim envelope. "I was supposed to pick it up, but I think that the Mayor is getting his pet vampire Tagget to pick it up instead. He's an ex-marine. Very tough. You'll have to be careful."

Muttering a curse Giles pulled his glasses off again and kicked at the cracked mug that Willow had used earlier, which sped across the floor and hit a pillar, where it smashed into a dozen pieces. Buffy exchanged worried glances with the others. This was very un-Giles of him. Then she noticed that the younger Watcher's face had fallen into a frown. "Damn," said Wesley.

"Um, Giles? Wes? What's wrong?"

Pausing to replace his glasses Giles left off cursing and looked at them. A combination of anger and weary resignation was in his eyes. "Buffy, a Karren Box is a an indiscriminate thing. It attracts vampires and demons of all kinds, it doesn't differentiate between them. And Angel here was only able to remain unaffected because of his soul. It can't otherwise be blocked, it can't be filtered, the only way to escape it is to destroy it, to turn it off or to be out of range, which is about half a mile in each direction.

"If Wilkins wanted to get rid of Mr Finch here by giving him the box, he would have made damn sure that none of his minions were anywhere nearby. Especially anyone he was sending to get the Box of Gavrok, without which he cannot ascend. We've been tricked. The Box must be coming in another way, nowhere near the docks." He sighed again. "Let's go back to the library. Mr Finch can run thorough what he knows before his ride comes."

"Ride?" stammered Finch, with a combination of hope and fear in his eyes.

"Yes. I put in a few calls today to an old friend. Let's just say that you're going to be the Catholic Church's latest recruit. Wilkins won't be able to lay a finger on you."

As they headed for the broken doors Xander cleared his throat. "Giles is this thing safe now by the way?"

Startled, Giles turned to look at the two Jedi, who were both staring down at the green gem thoughtfully. "Safe? Oh, yes, it's, it's perfectly harmless now that the spell has been removed. Karren used an ordinary emerald." He paused to watch Xander bend down and pick it up.

The Jedi looked hard at it and them bounced it on his palm, weighing it, before tossing it over to Oz. Both Jedi broke out into identical grins. "Jackpot."

"I'm sorry?"

"I think I'm going to be busy," said Oz laconically as he walked over to Willow, who frowned and then made an "Ooh!" noise of wondering glee. "Making a lightsabre, Giles."

* * *

Tagget stood outside the office, his hands clasped in front of him. He was trying not to hear the noises from inside the room, where the Mayor was busy with the Box of Gavrok. Tagget had been around the block a few times since he had been turned in the 1970's after a drunken night out had left him in a vampire nest, but even then all the things that he'd seen had been nothing like the weird shit that Sunnydale could produce. This place could be freaky.

He winced as a faint skittering noise broke out behind the door again, followed by a clatter that sounded as if some kind of armoured tentacles were being dragged over a wall and away from the door. This was followed by a horrible crunching noise and a stifled chittering noise. He smoothed his face again. His instructions were very clear – he was not to open the door under any circumstances. No matter what he heard.

After a moment the handle turned and he stepped away from the door, stifling a faint sense of dread. Wilkins looked out and grinned at him. He had something black stuck in his teeth and his eyes were slightly dilated. "Ah, Mr Tagget." The Mayor paused to look back into the room. "Can you bring me some salt and pepper? These things need some seasoning."

The door closed again and Tagget walked off down the corridor. Yes, this place was weird.


	25. Threads

Mea culpa, mea culpa mea maxima culpa. Yes, I know, I keep apologising for long delays in updating but I've been busy. Partly because of work - I went to Dubai for a conference, poor me - and partly for other reasons, but c'est la vie. Plus I'm in love. But that's all I'm saying. So, enjoy and I promise that the next chapter won't take as long! Honest...

Oops, one or two errors. Resubmitted!

* * *

As they entered the shop Thorne was busy assessing a black pearl that was presumably owned by the deeply sinister figure in front of them. Whoever he was he had a hunch, a long black cloak and a hood. He also smelt very strongly of peppermint and Oz wrinkled his nose slightly in reaction. Xander looked at him and shrugged slightly. "Best not to ask sometimes in LA," he whispered quietly.

By the counter one of Thorne's ears twitch violently at the sound of Xander's voice but he kept his attention on the pearl. After a long pause he looked up and made a series of popping noises that ended in a firm click. The figure in black took this rather badly, replying with a rather louder series of popping noises accompanied by what sounded like snorts. Thorne frowned slightly and popped back. After a few minutes of this the black figure nodded sharply. A small bag of something changed hands and then the figure limped past the two Jedi towards the door.

Thorne placed the pearl into a drawer and turned to them. "Good day, Mr Harris," he said in his usual unemotional tones. "How can I help you today?"

Xander and Oz stepped to the counter, where the werewolf – or should that be lapsed werewolf, Xander mused – pulled out the emerald and placed it on the counter.

The moment that Thorne laid eyes on the gem he stiffened and his third eye opened fully to glare at it. Then he seemed to relax slightly as he inspected it more carefully.

"A Karren Gem. Or rather a former one. I can sense that the magic has been dissipated even without seeing a horde of evil creatures around my shop." He looked up at the two Jedi and Xander could see a certain respect in his expression. "The annulment of a Karren Gem is a formidable achievement Mr Harris. Most people tend to have short and fatal experiences with them. I was under the impression that they had all been destroyed."

"I had some help. And it was… interesting," replied Xander.

There was a pause and then Thorne nodded. "Very well. How can I help you?"

"My friend here would like the gem recut to the same shape that mine was last year. Exactly the same shape."

Thorne's eyes gleamed slightly as he looked down at the emerald. "Interesting. Another challenge. Every gem is different, you understand and your provisos are very exact." He picked it up and inspected it minutely. Then he replaced it on the counter. "Yes. I can do this. Payment will be in the chips from the process. Please return in 48 hours as before."

Xander nodded and turned to the door, with Oz following him. As they reached the outside air and the door closed behind them his former Padawan frowned slightly. "Interesting character. Neither good nor evil. Neutral."

"This is LA," said Xander grimly, staring up at the cloudy sky and wishing that he had a Jedi robe with a hood to cope with the possible rain that was coming. "We haven't been past the areas that are sinkholes of the dark side yet. Lets get back to Giles and the car. He should have finished at the church by now. Lets hope that Camillo got Finch out of the country ok."

* * *

The figure stood on top of the hill staring out at the town spread before it. Streetlights radiated away in brightly lit lines, criss-crossing in a grid with the occasional curve. Here and there he could see a car moving, some quite fast. You didn't want to be on the streets of Sunnydale at night. It was a good survival tip. Stay off the streets, at home, in bed, and maybe – maybe – you'd survive. For a bit. The figure stirred restlessly. This was a bad place to live. A sigh escaped a pair of lips. Then the figure raised eyes to the stars that were twinkling down. Wishing on a star was a useless superstition, but it could be reassuring sometimes.

The eyes returned to the streets beneath. Not far away a stop sign changed from green to red at a junction. Two roads met there and then diverged, never to meet again. The figure's shoulders slumped slightly. It was the right thing to do. He had to leave. It would hurt – god it would hurt! But it was the right thing to do.

Angel stood up slowly and walked back down the hill.

* * *

It was dark in the room in the bowels of Wolfram & Hart. He rubbed at his eyes tiredly and then looked back down at the golden sphere. Something was nagging at the back of his mind but he just couldn't nail it down. Damn he was beat. Probably should get some sleep in a few minutes. He frowned. When was the last time that he'd been at home again? Three days ago? Good thing that he'd thrown that pizza away the last time he was at the apartment or by now it would have either have developed a new form of penicillin or broken down the kitchen door and made its way out to the nearest taxi company to demand a job. Yeuch.

A massive yawn forced its way out his mouth and he ran his fingers through his hair. Okay… five more minutes. He was close now, very close. The recording had been taken upstairs and analysed and he had a good idea of the way that the crystals worked. That was the intriguing thing. They were a form of technology, not the enchanted machinery that he had first thought. And that made sense – you could store information onto them a bit like a computer chip only far, far more efficiently. Plus you could process far more power. Fascinating. The only problem was getting a better handle on the way that the power was regulated in this damn thing.

Walt leant over it and stared into its depths. Ah, hang on. What if he turned that main crystal around slightly – there were a series of gradations around it, meaning that it was supposed to be turned. Reaching in he grasped the age-blackened shape and twisted. After some tugging it finally moved. Aha! Little lights were coming on slowly at the base. And there was an odd noise, like a voice speaking very slowly. Interesting. The crystal was a bit brighter now, but it was also illuminating something else. He reached in and scratched slightly at the surface of the crystal, prompting black specs to flake off it, revealing that more of the crystal was glowing than he had thought. Oh hell. It was pulsing.

Walt span around and had almost made it to the door when a bright light and huge noise swept him up and everything went very dark…

* * *

Holland Manners looked up as the building seemed to shake ever so slightly. Then he sighed and went back to looking over the paperwork on the Hughes Case. Damn technical department, what were they going to blow up next?

After a while his phone rang and he frowned at it before picking it up.

"Manners."

He listened for a while and then asked a few questions before replacing the receiver. Ah well. That was life.

* * *

It looked like a bastardised cross between a rifle and a set of wires that had come down with a bad attack of the hiccups, thought Riley Finn wryly as he looked at the weapon on the table in front of him. Odd wasn't the word for it. He picked it up and hefted it. Okay, the weight wasn't too bad… what about the way it was laid out though? He turned it and looked at the various protrubences. Hmmm. Not as many as he'd feared. Firing grip, trigger, side hold bar, battery slide… Okay that last part was a bit awkward. It was a bit too large.

He nestled it into the crook of his shoulder and stared down the sights. Then he spun 180 degrees, imagined firing it and whipped back again. It felt good. Not too heavy to move quickly but weighty enough to let him have a good feel about inertia and timing.

"Do you like it?" said a voice from the doorway.

Riley hurriedly snapped to attention automatically. "Director Walsh."

"Finn," said the commander as she walked in. She was wearing her white lab coat and looked very serious. "So what do you think of the new version of the ESG-1?"

He looked down at the weapon. "Can I ask what the yield is?"

A small smile quirked one side of her mouth. "We've tried it on test subjects that include HSTs variants one through four. It works, although we're still looking for a reliable power unit that can give multiple bursts. In the meantime-" she reached into a pocket of her lab coat and pulled out a battery pack. "We suggest spare units and the use of other weapons as reserves."

Bringing the weapon down to parade rest and then coming to attention Riley nodded sharply. "Permission to try the weapon in combat conditions Director?"

The small smile came again. "Permission granted. Who do you want to take out tomorrow night?"

"The two new recruits, Miller and Gates. They've been out before but only on milk runs so far. They need something a little tougher. Plus Turner, Director."

"Go."

* * *

Faith ducked sharply, one leg lashing out viciously behind her to smash into the knee of the onrushing vampire that had been making the move on her behind her back whilst his buddy tried to mash her head with the pipe. Fangface let out a choked scream that went soprano when she applied the heel of her boot somewhere more personal. Then she dived forwards, rolled once and came up next to the body of the large demon with the green pincer thingies, which still had her sword embedded in its forehead. She reached out and the blade came free with a horrible noise, just in time to parry Fangface two with his pipe, which bent nastily. The vampire looked at it in horror and then she caught it in the neck with the sword, reducing it to dust. The sighing scream caught the attention of the other vampire, which was just about upright by now from her boot to its balls and which wheeled to face her - just in time to also get it in the neck.

Faith paused, the sword poised ready in her hands as she looked around, before she finally relaxed. Then she looked around at the body of the green demon. Man, JX was going to be pissed at her for that. Never disarm yourself he always said, and it was advice that was five by five. But green and meany over there had had a head made of glue and rock or something – the sword had gone in easy but come out hard. She made a note of the face and then strolled on, whistling under her breath and pulling at the piece of cloth that hung from her belt, which she used to quickly wipe both sides of the blade before returning it to its scabbard. Never hurt to be careful with this thing. It wasn't as good as Aquila, to use the name that B kept reminding herself to use, but it had a wicked sharp balance and was almost as sharp as her knife.

She wandered on though the streets, looking around apparently casually but with her senses searching. Quiet night for the assorted nasties so far, she thought. Three fledglings, one floppy thing that had been (unsuccessfully) stalking a terrified Labrador and the party that she'd just left. Par for the course so far. She paused and twirled her sword briefly. She still needed more practice. No matter what she and B did, JX was always a few steps ahead of them, and that sucked sometimes. Slayers were supposed to be the best and she wasn't cool about not being the best. Well, no, she was cool about JX being a Jedi an' all, but it was a case of pride. She paused again and shook her head. Man that was dumb. Pride. No way was she going down that road. Horry would have kicked her butt for thinking that – or rather looked very disappointed, which was worse.

Faith nodded quietly as she thought of her old Watcher. The more she thought about Horry the more she could see her influence on Giles. The guy had a lot of cool stories about Horry, about the things that she'd said and did with his other. He could talk about her with a wry grin on his face and affection in his voice that made her feel as if Horry had just stepped out of the room for a moment.

Another shake of the head. Wool gathering again. Sloppy. She sheathed her sword properly and looked around. Time to do some hunting. Pausing by a set of railings she sniffed the air carefully and then glanced around. When she was sure that no-one was around she grabbed the top of two close railings and flipped up hard so that she was suddenly balancing on top of them with her hands. She held the position for a beat of ten seconds and then flipped herself over the railing to land on the other side. She smiled. Sweet. New hunting ground. She'd never been on that side of town before. Time to see what was out there.

* * *

Every time that she went near it her heart thudded in her chest. It was just sooo beautiful that just looking at it was like overdosing on chocolate. Sort of. It sat on the display and just screamed: "Here I am, I'm perfect, put me on" in every language, like ever. It was perfect. And at $900 it was totally out of her league. The best that she could hope for now was something a lot less perfect, something that a year earlier she would have balled up and thrown at a maid with a scream of disgust. But that was then and this was now and life was totally unfair. But she had to learn to deal with it.

Cordelia Chase drew a deep breath and walked across the carpet to the counter, where the others were gathering. It was 9am on a Saturday morning, a time when she was normally asleep. Normally as in her old life. Now it was different. It was time to open the shop and work for a living. She seethed inwardly. Stupid IRS. Stupid Daddy for not sending back the right information. Stupid Mom for buying all those shiny things. She sulked. Life just _sucked_ at the moment.

* * *

"I don't suppose that we can get a superconductor at the same place that you got yours?"

"Not unless we find out where that base is, and they might not take too kindly to us walking in and using the Jedi mind trick on them all. Plus they probably have surveillance and I don't want to be identified and have people covered in guns appear at home. My folks might suspect something."

"Ah. Point."

There was a pause as the two Jedi stared down at the power cell and other parts that were spread out on the surface of the table. Then Xander reached into his pocket and pulled out the Jedi instruction book. Placing it in front of him he leafed through it carefully before arriving a page with a complex diagram. Nodding thoughtfully he span the book around and pushed it over at Oz. "That's the perfect version. I used what I had available, as I didn't have the parts to make a superconductor. It isn't just something you can just knock together out of junk or spare parts, you need something that can handle high temperatures and large levels of energy."

He tapped the book thoughtfully. "What we do have however is the parts to build the handle and the energy cell. Plus we have the gem. Which is going to be complete some time tomorrow."

Oz nodded thoughtfully.

"I know someone else in LA," muttered the Jedi. "We might need to pay him a visit while we're there, to check up on him." He paused. "But we still need a superconductor. And that's the hard part." He paused for a moment and then they both turned to stare at the door. A moment later it opened to reveal Wesley, who walked in with a stance that combined nonchalance with nervousness.

"Ah, Xander, Oz. Good morning. I trust that you're both well?" The young Watcher sauntered over, looking slightly more relaxed, but both Jedi could feel the nervousness rolling off him. "Ah, I was going to ask about thegem. I know that it's been cleansed thank goodness, but still… can I ask what your plans for it are?"

Xander and Oz traded glances. "We're working on something, Wesley," said Xander after a moment.

"I see," nodded Wesley, "You're planning something Force-related with it. Another lightsabre perhaps?"

This time the Jedi traded a startled glance. Wesley looked like a pompous twit and frankly there were times when he behaved like one, but he had hidden depths. He was far more perceptive than many people gave him credit for a start. If he could just get past the layers of 'I know it all' and down to the real him, that would be a great start.

Straightening up slightly Xander smiled. "Hopefully, if we can get the parts it'll be a lightsabre for Oz here."

"Green," said his fellow Jedi. "Like Luke in Jedi. Very Consular."

This brought a confused frown to the Watcher's face. "I beg your pardon? Consular? I fail to see the connection between the Jedi and Rome, if I heard the word properly, although I suppose it all depends on the connotations involved and where the roots of the…"

"Whoa, Wesley, time out," said Xander as he cut off the musing babble. Then he sighed. Time to explain. "Wesley, there are two main types of Jedi. Guardians and Consulars. Guardians use blue lightsabres like mine. We are more… aggressive is the wrong word to use. We are more like warrior monks, to use an Earth expression. Like all Jedi we use the Force for knowledge and defence, never for attack. Damn, at this rate I'm going to sound like Yoda.

"Consular Jedi are a little different. Although they use lightsabres – obviously – they are more… diplomatic is one way of putting it. They make excellent ambassadors, they are more empathic in negotiations."

"And they use green lightsabres," interjected Oz.

"Like Obi-Wan I'm a Guardian. Oz here is a Consular as he's a better healer and listener."

"Few words do I use," quipped Oz.

"And something – call it luck, call it fate or the living Force, has delivered us the right gems for us both. I picked up a sapphire in the desert. We found the Karren Gem." He looked down at the various parts and pieces on the table. "And now we need the parts to make a lightsabre. Which is, to sound very Giles – sorry, very Watcher – a bit of a bugger."

Wesley, who had been listening to all of this with a look of deep fascination, raised his eyebrows. "Why would that be? You made your own lightsabre didn't you?"

This bought him a grimace. "I got lucky. Well sort of. I went to LA to sell the gems I found in the desert, met a pal there and ended up in a demon bar – a non-violent one by the way! – where this green-skinned guy read my aura or mojo or something when I sang. Completely freaked the poor guy out, but he saw the future. Got me to the right spot to help Buffy when she fell into a hell dimension and then gave me some information about the main part I needed for my lightsabre, a superconductor. Kind of thing you can't make in your dad's basement even with the best will in the world. I found it in a truck that had been hijacked by a pair of vamps. It was carrying parts for that military base in the general area that we still haven't been able to trace." He frowned. "We need to check that out once we deal with the Mayor."

The Watcher nodded sombrely. "Yes, indeed." Then he looked up with an odd and almost expectant glitter in his eyes. "It, ah, never really ends does it, these challenges on the Hellmouth? One crisis after another. It's almost… invigorating."

This brought about an infinitesimal wince from Xander. "Invigorating isn't the word that I'd use, Wesley. Anyway, c'est la vie. By the way were you looking for Giles or can we help you with anything?"

This seemed to throw the Englishman slightly. He put both hands in his pockets, cleared his throat, winced slightly, rocked back on his heels slightly and finally said: "Can I ask how well you know Miss Chase?"

"I hated her in kindergarten, loathed her in our first years of High School and now I have a disturbing affection and toleration for her. Being a Jedi means that I can look beyond her façade," said Xander feeling faint surprise. "Why do you ask?"

"I have, well, the greatest admiration and respect for her, but I, um, have noticed something wrong with her in recent weeks. She seems to be somewhat irritable and short-tempered."

"I thought that she was always like that," said Oz. "On the surface anyway."

"More short-tempered and irritable than normal, you mean?" asked Xander. He mentally kicked himself. Something had been off with Cordy recently but they'd all been too busy to wonder about it much. He cursed inwardly. There was no excuse in failing to notice this. She had become a member of the gang, she was far more intelligent and insightful than people gave her credit for. It was just a shame that people were put off by her raging vanity. "You're right, she has been acting a bit oddly recently. I'll ask her. Thanks Wesley, I hadn't thought about it much."

"Oh, well, I just thought that I'd confirm my suspicions. Oh, um, will she, will she be at the Prom?"

The two Jedi did not look at each other as if they had one or both might have started to grin. The Watcher could be very obvious sometimes.

"Wesley she's the social queen of the school. If she wasn't at the Prom then the sun would stop in the sky, the entire fabric of this place would be rent in twain and I for one would be amazed. Yes, she'll be there."

"Oh good! I mean, I'll look forwards to seeing you all there when it takes place. Which reminds me, I must dust off my dinner jacket. I'll see you both later."

* * *

"Ah, Xander. Good. Can I have a word?" The Jedi turned to look at the Watcher and then nodded.

"Sure Giles. What's up?"

Raising a finger to scratch his nose, Giles directed a quick look at the other students who were working in the library with various degrees of enthusiasm. Some looked keen, like Jonathan who was sitting at the end of the table with a massive book and who was making a lot of notes and frowning at the same time. Others looked as if they were about to fall asleep or die of boredom. One was even digging a pencil into his leg in a vain effort to keep his eyes from closing.

"My office? Fancy a coffee?" muttered the Watcher and wandered vaguely around the counter, pausing to check out three books and stare in horror at one of the titles.

"The youth of today read such utter drivel. In my day it was a case of expanding your knowledge, not expanding the publisher's bank account. What is a Sweet Valley High anyway? Or a Power Ranger? Oh never mind," he said wearily as they both entered his office where he sank into a chair. "Coffee?"

"Thanks, Giles," said Xander as he accepted a mug and helped himself to the kettle. When he was topped up he turned and perched himself on the edge of the table. "Ok, what's up?"

The chair creaked as Giles leant back and clasped his hands together. "The Ascension is now a week away and I'm becoming increasingly concerned about our lack of ideas about how to deal with the Mayor. I know that people's minds are on the Prom, for a number of reasons, but I have always thought that getting organised early was far better than getting organised late. Even the proverbial nick of time can lead to grey hair eventually."

The Watcher leant forwards again and fixed the Jedi with a searching stare. "Xander I'd like to know about any plans you've been mulling. Any ideas, no, no matter how fleeting. We need a plan. And access perhaps to your memories of a certain General Kenobi."

Xander nodded thoughtfully and drank some of his coffee. He felt rather relieved. The ascension had been getting on his mind as well and his memories of plotting the invasion of Separatist-held planets had been coming to the fore. Planning was everything, as long as you looked at as many possible scenarios as you could think of.

"I've been thinking about this a lot over the past few weeks. Look at it from the tactical point of view, Giles. We know when he's planning to ascend. We know, thanks to Snyder's look of panic on the day that he was told, where he's going to snakify himself, although the troll just thinks that his boss is going to be on the premises and that everything needs to be cleaned three million times from top to bottom around here.

"We also know that he needs food after the process is complete, so that a load of hormonally-ravaged teenagers in silly hats is the perfect appetizer to his reign of slime. So that means the ceremony itself. He can't be killed before that. This brings up the problem of how we're going to kill him and where we can do this far away enough from the others so that the casualty list is kept down. Which," he took another long sip of coffee, "Is the hard part. We need to get him away from the awards ceremony and into a place where his advantages will be disadvantages. I imagine that a 60 foot long snake will be quite fast." He paused, his eyes narrowing. "And quite hard to stop. Plus the lack of hands will be a problem for him – he won't be able to manipulate anything. If we can get him into one place, cripple him, or keep him there for long enough to…" he paused again, his eyes flickering around the room as he thought. "Okay, I think I know where and how. We need to get hold of a few things, but we can do it. I even know how to keep him there. That leaves one problem."

Giles, who had been listening to this with his mouth half open, raised his eyebrows. "Just the _one_ problem?"

"Just the one major problem, Giles. How do we get Wilkins away from the students? What do we use as bait? Or perhaps not what but who?"

They exchanged a long and rather grim stare. Then they started to talk.

* * *

When Xander left the library for class he was in a very thoughtful mood. Passing down the corridor filled with chattering students he looked around almost nostalgically. This place had been a major part of his life for years. True, most of his memories were about boring classes, detentions and really dull homework, but there were other memories. Laughing with Willow and Jesse, running out of the doors to go home, helping with demon research in the library with a group of people that had become a family to him. And then the changes that had happened to him, the transition to becoming a Jedi that had altered his life so profoundly. What would he do next? What lay ahead? Once the Mayor was out of the way, what then? He sighed slightly and then grinned. He could almost see Yoda now, shaking his head and muttering about how young Obi-Wan needed to be mindful of the future.

Then he blinked. Anya had appeared out of a side corridor and was bearing down on him like a small but angry thundercloud. "Hey, you! Mr Force-is-with-me!" she snapped.

Xander blinked hard, checked that no one was around them and then grabbed her arm and firmly marched her into an adjacent empty classroom. "Anya, we really need to have that chat about discretion and how you need to learn to use some. Right. What's wrong this time?"

The former vengeance demon narrowed her eyes and glared at him. "You make it sound as if I'm always complaining. I don't complain. Well, not that much anyway. True I am a human again and I'm going to die in a six or seven decades and I still can't get an alcoholic drink and human bodies get sweaty and you'd be amazed the way that things like underwear ride up in your-"

He cut her off hurriedly. "Anya! Too much information! Now," he said, taking the Jedi equivalent of a very deep breath, "What is the problem?"

"It's Jonathan," she said sulkily. "He won't leave."

"He won't leave where?"

She stared at him as if he had gone mad. "Are you insane? Here! The place where Watkins-"

"Wilkins."

"Whatever, this Mayor person, is going to ascend and try to kill everyone in the immediate area. Sunnydale. California." Her shoulders slumped slightly. "He won't leave."

Xander sat on a desk and rubbed his forehead tiredly. This was an unwelcome complication. "What have you told him Anya? And…" he looked at her carefully. The relationship that existed between Anya and Jonathan was an odd one. "Why do you care about him?"

This bought him a look that was a cross between a glare and the kind of rabbit-in-the-headlights flash that you saw occasionally. It also reduced her to a brief silence. Then she finally said: "Care? About Jonathan? Are you insane? I don't… I mean why…" She paused, her eyes flickering back and forth, before rallying again: "Why do you think that I care about him?"

"Because the moment he first set eyes on you he fell over a banister and had to go to the nurse with a minor concussion. Because when he looks at you nothing else matters to him. Because I can feel the emotion that he feels when he looks at you. And you feel it back."

"Do not!" she snapped, with a tense and brittle air about her. She glared at him again, but something was bothering her, he could tell even without the Force. Then her shoulders slumped.

"Maybe," she muttered. "A bit." The glare returned. "I don't understand! He's short, he's not terribly attractive, he has no money, he has no real magical power – yet – and he is not well endowed in any way that I can-"

"Whoa, lets not go there shall we? That's the bad place where no information must ever see the light of day." He sighed. "But Jonathan means something to you."

Anya looked at him, a dozen or more emotions flashing across her face. Then she whispered in a baffled voice: "Yes."

Okay. This was freaky. He held up his hands in a gesture of resignation. "Anya, you're human now. Human feelings, human hormones, human thoughts. Human emotions. We all have them. We all have to deal with them. And… love is a special thing."

She looked at him, the blood draining from her face. "Love?" she asked in a horrified voice.

"It's not a four-letter word," he prompted gently.

"It is to me, why do you think that I got into vengeance in the first place? I was betrayed! He saw a barmaid! Even worse she was older than me! And part English!" she said in a rising tone that set his teeth on edge.

Xander sighed. "That was then. This is now. Times change. You've changed. Reach out with your feelings. And I ask again, what have you told him?"

She eyeballed the ceiling in exasperation. "Nothing important. I just said that nasty things happened in Sunnydale and that it might be a good idea to go away – far away- a week from now. Not that he listened. He just said that he'd fight what comes. He was very… chivalrous. Sort of, for a short human who sweats sometimes." Her gaze returned to him. "Talk to him. Tell him to go away. Far away. I can join him then. I can work out these strange feelings. Especially the dreams. You see, there's this one where he and I are naked and he-"

"Anya! Too much information again? Okay, I'll talk to him. And may the Force be with me."

Shaking his head slightly he walked out and headed off to class, pausing along the way to dodge behind a stanchion in order to avoid Snyder. The principal swept past muttering a constant litany under his breath that sounded a lot like: "Check the square, check the caterer, make sure the school, is clean, clean, clean, damn it, students make a mess, check them, clean them, check the square…" and so on. Shaking his head at the back of the receding figure of his least favourite person in the area Xander moved on.

It wasn't until lunchtime that he was able to find Jonathan, who had taken his lunch tray to a window and was staring out of it in a rather vague manner that suggested that wherever his mind was, it wasn't on the strange substance that might have been meatloaf, if the recipe called for an unhealthy sheen to the object.

Xander paused and then sat down next to him. "Hey," he said, staring down at the limpness that was supposed to be a chicken salad.

"Mmm?" came the reply and then Jonathan turned to look at him. "Oh, hey Xander," he said, blinking hard.

"I need to have a word with you. How's life?"

This bought him a rather baffled look. "Fine," said Jonathan eventually. "Why d'ya want to know?"

"I talked to Anya a little while ago."

Something gleamed behind Jonathan's eyes for a second and he put down his fork. "Ah," he said. "What did you want with her?"

Taking a deep breath Xander looked hard at him. "How much do you know?"

"I'm sorry? Know about what?"

"How much do you know about this place. Sunnydale. The High School. Anya."

"Oh," said Jonathan, swallowing hard. Then he lowered his voice. "I know that weird things happen here. I did some digging, putting a few things together after seeing some stuff. I know that this place is Boca del Inferno. The Mouth of Hell. A Hellmouth. I know that vampires and other things live here. And I know that Anya is linked to those things somehow. Oh and Buffy is involved somehow. I think that you all are, in some way. In a good way though. I think that you fight things."

It was a good thing that Xander had been holding on to the Force while Jonathan had been saying all of this or he would have spat half of his orange juice over three rows of otherwise unsuspecting students. Instead he sighed. This place kept getting more and more complicated at times. At least tonight's dinner with his parents would be relatively easy. Then he looked back at Jonathan. He had the sudden sneaking suspicion that more people knew about Sunnydale's real night life than he thought. It was an interesting thought. Then he started to talk.

* * *

Tony Harris raised his glass of red wine. "To Xander," he said with quiet but immense pride. "And graduation."

Xander raised his own glass of orange juice. It was another three years until he could drink legally, but the dinner was a celebration of his graduation and a belated 18th birthday bash. That he was sort of 18 anyway. In Earth years that is. What his Jedi memories made him, he still wasn't sure. But it was time to put the Hellmouth to one side for a moment and celebrate.

"To Dad," he said in response. "And the new manager of the store." Then he turned to his mother, who was smiling with quiet pride. "And to Mom, who is about to be the new manager of Sunnydale Books."

It was a good moment. The Harris family never usually went out and celebrated and in past years his parents hadn't had much to celebrate. But tonight was different. For one thing they were at a decent Italian restaurant. For another Uncle Rory was also there, looking sober, even though he was sniffing at the wine suspiciously and obviously wishing it was beer.

The Jedi Knight paused to take a moment in contemplation, letting the conversation between the three others wash over him. His family had changed a lot over the past year and a half and he wasn't sure still what the catalyst had been. Perhaps it was the fact that his parents had been proud of him – of his rising grades, of his ability to talk through any arguments, to keep the peace in the house with a quiet word, of his ability to put up with Snyder. His father's first words – in private – after meeting the principal had been on the lines of "How the hell did a stunted troll like that get to run real people?" followed by: "And how do you keep yourself from bad mouthing him?"

Xander's response had been: "Patience, Dad. That and control. Or a voodoo doll, not that I'd go down that road." At which point Tony Harris had laughed so much he almost crashed the car.

And now they were here, in this place, having a good time. Xander sighed internally. He had already made some arrangements ahead of the graduation ceremony in a few days. His parents were about to "win" a trip to San Diego, courtesy of the money that Giles had salted away from him months earlier from the sale of the gems that he'd found in the desert cave. As for Rory, Uncle Will was busy upgrading his garage and Rory had surprised himself by volunteering to help out. For a fee of course. But they would all be out of the town. That was the important bit.

Then he paused as the others all exchanged a long look before turning to him. His father looked partly proud and partly embarrassed. "Ah… Xander. Your mom and I wanted you to know just how proud we are of you for graduating with the scores that you have. What you've done is amazing."

If only you knew what else I do, thought Xander with a sudden sense of guilt. The things I do that I can't tell you about.

"I'm sorry that we can't afford to send you to college," his father was saying now, the embarrassment – and was that a faint amount of shame? – increasing, "But we can give you this." And Tony Harris leant over and placed a set of car keys on the table. "You'll find it on the drive back home. The convertible that's been sitting in the garage for years. Rory and I rebuilt it over the weekends. It belonged to me a long time ago. And now it's yours. I'm… we're… very proud of you."

Xander Harris, Jedi Knight, grabbed the Force hurriedly to seek peace. Otherwise he would have displayed extreme emotion. Instead he picked up the keys, looked at his father and smiled.

"Thanks Dad."

Sometimes the living Force could throw up a surprise. And that was nice.

* * *

"Shitshitshitshitshit… Forrest! You got anything over there?"

The Initiative soldier grabbed at the pouch on his hip and shook his head emphatically. "Nope, just regular ammo here. Working on it though. Hand is quicker than the eye."

Riley looked back at the tall thing that was busy reducing the knife that it had grabbed off the now-unconscious Sergeant Turner into a pretzel and let out a long breathe. This was not looking good at all. The ESG-1 had not been the success that he had hoped that it might be. The voltage on the first HST they had met hadn't been quite high enough, so that the vampire had just shuddered a lot and then come at them again before getting a shotgun blast in the neck from Graham that had reduced it to dust.

They'd replaced the power pack and upped the voltage for the second encounter. Problem was that had been a bit too high and just reduced the vampire to a cloud of electrically charged fiery dust. Then they'd bumped into this puppy, which had taken three blasts at almost point blank range and shrugged them all off. It was large, green, armoured and nasty. Fortunately, after knocking Turner out with an almost absent-minded backhander, it was now too enraged to be able to decide which of the three remaining members of the patrol to attack first. Based on the way it was gibbering however, it was close to making a decision.

Riley reached down quickly and pulled open the sheath on his shin, before tugging out the long old-fashioned bayonet within. Strictly non-regulation, but hey, it was that or get filleted.

"Shotgun won't work on this thing!" yelled Graham to one side.

"Anything heavy calibre?" replied Riley.

"Yeah, give me a sec," replied Forrest, as he fiddled with something beside his leg.

The thing let out a bellow at this point that raised the hairs on the back of Riley's neck. "Kill you all," it shouted, "Kill you and eat your hearts!"

"Sorry," said Forrest, "That's off the menu for tonight. Eat this!" He pulled up the ESG-1 from behind his back and aimed it. Riley's mouth dropped open in horror until he saw the almost-drained three battery packs jury-rigged onto the weapon. Then the tip of the ESG-1 flared with blue-white light as it collected the charge, which flew across the air in a powerful arc of electricity… which the green thing shrugged off again. It grinned nastily, stepped up and pulled the energy weapon from Forrest's grasp before tossing it away – a long way away, it went sailing off the edge of the roadway they were standing on. Then it grabbed Forrest by the neck and threw him against a nearby car, where he sagged unpleasantly.

"What you do now?"

"This," said Graham and loosed a whole clip of bullets from his heavy calibre automatic at the thing, which staggered slightly at the impacts as bit of armoured carapace flaked off and shattered along its body and head. When it looked up green stuff was oozing from a few spots on its body and it looked mad as hell. Madder even.

"Hurt me. Silly metal things. Kill you now." It stood up at this and bellowed again at Graham who was trying to put in a new magazine in record time, who was desperately looking up as the thing approached, its fists balling and its arms coming back to crush the life out of him and then…

It looked down at the hilt of the bayonet as it jutted out of the one spot of the splintered carapace that Riley had been able to reach as it thundered past him. A slow stream of nasty green-black ichor was oozing down from the wound. "Oh," it said slowly as it stood there, frozen in place. "Ow." And then it fell over like a tree falling, shaking the earth as it hit the ground.

Riley looked at the shaken Graham for a long moment and then relaxed slightly as he looked at the dead demon. "Cover me," he said quietly, pulling out his reserve automatic from his ankle holster and then approaching the motionless thing very, very carefully, keeping the gun aimed at the open and apparently unseeing eye that was staring at the stars. Cautiously he kicked the side of the thing and then paused. A slightly harder kick followed. Still nothing. He relaxed slightly. It seemed to be dead. That or it had discovered the concept of subtlety really quickly, which given its fighting style seemed very unlikely.

Riley looked around at the battleground and then slumped tiredly against a lamppost, sliding down to rest at the same eyelevel as Forrest, who was rubbing his neck. "That wasn't much fun," he said wryly. Then he reached up to a pocket and pulled out his radio. "Patrol One to Base," he snapped, trying to put some energy into it.

There was a pause and then the radio crackled: "Base here. Authenticate."

He closed his eyes. Procedure was procedure, but it felt a bit unnecessary here. "Finn, Riley. Alpha three seven delta delta tango."

Some electronic chirped and then the voice said: "Confirmed."

"Immediate evac required following combat with HST. Two WIA. Transmitting GPS co-ordinates now." He pressed a button on the side of the GPS unit that was attached to the radio and waited.

Another pause and then the voice said: "Evac on the way, Finn. ETA four minutes twenty seconds."

"Confirmed, base." Taking a deep breath he replaced the radio into his pocket and looked around. Graham was checking on Turner, who was still unconscious. "How is he?"

"He'll have a hell of a headache when he wakes up," came the reply.

"You okay Forrest?"

"I've been better," replied the soldier as he gingerly felt at the bruises around his neck. "What was that thing?"

"New class of HST for me. Just hope that we don't find many more of them any time soon."

Forrest nodded emphatically and then winced in pain. "What happened to the ESG?"

"Oh, that thing. Our green friend threw it away. I think it went over there somewhere," he said, flipping a finger at the void behind him.

"Damn. Will the Director be pissed with us?"

"Yes. But as the damn thing was more trouble than it was worth, it'll pass. Cleanup crew should find it."

"Sweet." There was a pause. "So does this kind of thing happen all the time?"

"Nope."

"Okay."

* * *

"Come back here and fight like a scum-sucking undead lowlife, you diseased weasel!" yelled Faith as she pelted down the road after the fleeing vampire. This wasn't how it was supposed to work. They leered, they fought her, she slayed, everything five by five. They were not supposed to take one look at her, scream like a girl and head off so fast that they almost had smoke coming off their heels.

"No way man!" wailed the vampire as it looked over its shoulder wildly. "Why should I stay still enough to get dusted by one of the Slayers?"

She glowered. The first thing that she'd done to try and stop the damn thing had been to pull out her knife and throw it, aiming for its neck. Unfortunately fangface had swerved slightly in mid panic-stricken flight to dodge a mail box and her knife had sunk into its shoulder instead. She was not going to lose that knife, it was too wicked cool to lose.

"Damnit, why can't life be easy sometimes?" she panted, and reached into a pocket for her emergency stake. This wasn't going to be easy, but all she had to do was slow the son of a bitch down, so a leg wound would do it. She half-grinned, imagining what Horry would have said about her using tactics for once instead of slaying first and thinking second.

Just as she was bringing the stake up to throw she picked up the sound of an approaching car and paused for a second. Damn, witnesses were a pain. Then she blinked as a red sports car flashed past, driven by someone who was holding the wheel with one hand and clutching a crossbow with the other. She barely heard a deep twang over the roar of the motor and then the vamp was suddenly part of the scenery, drifting down to the ground in a cloud of dust while her knife, still riding on the vampire's momentum, embedded it self in the side of a mailbox. The wooden quarrel bounced off a for sale sign into the leafy upper reaches of a tree, where something gave out a short and very terminal squeak. After a second a dead squirrel fell out.

She slowed to a halt and stared in astonishment at the car as it slowed down ahead of her. No way was it being driven by who she thought it was. Trick of the light, it had to be…

The car did a quick three-point turn and then came back down the road towards her, slowing as it did. A face poked out of the window.

"Ah, Faith. I saw you chasing that inhuman creature and I thought I'd render assistance," beamed Wesley. Then he frowned. "Admittedly I was aiming for its leg, but I failed to take the recoil, so to speak, into account. Physics can be such a tricky thing at times."

She just looked at him for a moment and then inspected the car. "Hell Wesley, where did you get this?"

The beam returned, becoming more smug than before. "Watcher's Council lottery. I won the big prize this year. I wasn't going to enter, but than I thought 'Carpe Diem!' after thinking about life here on the Hellmouth and threw my hat into the ring!"

"You thought about fish?"

"No, Faith, Carpe Diem. It's Latin. Means 'seize the day', in a rough and ready translation." He got out and pulled out his handkerchief to brush away a non-existent smear of dirt. Then he leant against it in what he obviously thought was a cool way. It made him look as if there was something wrong with his hips.

"Okay…" she said, as she walked up to the mailbox to retrieve her knife, looking absent-mindedly at the name stencilled on the side. Whoever this Steve Dallas guy was who lived there was, he going to have a wet letter problem if it rained at all soon, judging from the size of the hole. "Thanks with the assist, Wes. Might have taken a bit longer to run the weasel down otherwise. Never had a fang face take off like that on me before."

Her Watcher – as opposed to her secret Watcher, the G-Man – nodded appraisingly. "Yes he was rather fast wasn't he? I take it that he knew that you were a Slayer."

"Yup, saw me and got wings on his feet real fast."

"Much to his cost," he said cheerily. "Can I give you a lift?"

She looked around thoughtfully. It had been a quiet night so far and things looked under control. She could do with an early night for once – it was all of 12:15 a.m. "Yeah sure, thanks Wesley." She raised her eyebrows. "Can I drive?"

"No," came the rapid response. "You're not insured on this at the moment."

"Spoilsport," she pouted as she opened the front passenger door and slid in. "Okay, lets drive."

By the time that they'd reached the junction of Sixth and MacMillan Faith had discovered the cigarette lighter, had praised the acceleration, had picked up on the slight creak that the gear pedal made every time Wesley changed gear, had put her heels on the dashboard three times and had discovered that the radio could pick up some good and very loud music stations. Wesley had told her not to smoke, had preened at the praise, promised to get the pedal oiled, tried to dust the dashboard whilst driving and firmly turned the radio off. Faith had finally accidentally pressed the button that folded the roof down automatically and Wesley was slowing down to try and rectify that little matter when they both noticed the figures fighting on the overpass that they were about to pass under.

"Damn," said Faith as she pulled out her knife and hefted it automatically as they passed under the roadway. "That thing does not look like it's human, Wesley."

"I agree," said her Watcher grimly. "Kantoth'll demon unless I miss my guess. Has a very hard outer carapace, but once you pierce it or crack it, it can be easy to kill. I wonder who the men in black are? I'll park over there and-"

There was a faint whistling noise and suddenly an odd-looking gun fell out of the sky, hit the steering wheel, bounced and caught Wesley a nasty crack on the side of the head before flying off into the rear of the car. The Watcher's eyes crossed and he swayed before slumping bonelessly.

"Shit!" said Faith as she grabbed the steering wheel with one hand and levered herself up to get enough room to flail out with a foot for the brakes. It took a moment of fumbling to get the keys out of the ignition, but finally the car came to halt having mounted the curb and embracing nature in the form of a hedge, which leant over drunkenly.

"Godamnit," she said after a long moment and then checked Wesley. Yup, still unconscious, with a nasty bruise on the side of his head that was turning into a lump. He didn't look too bad otherwise. Then she picked up her knife from the footwell where she'd thrown it and looked back up at the overpass. Whatever had been going on there had stopped from what she could see from her viewpoint, no men in black, no nasty thing with horns, no nothing. She sighed and replaced the knife in its sheath. Then she looked into the back seat where the odd gun was lying. It looked like a mad cross between a gun and the electrical section of a hardware store. Okay. Better get Wesley to Giles and the others.

* * *

Wesley came out of the office feeling far better than he had going into it a bit earlier. Young Oz's healing skills with the Force were really most impressive. While the lump hadn't gone away entirely – Oz had pointed out that he was still learning when it came to healing – it was still significantly reduced and the blinding headache was now merely a dull shadow of its former self.

The Watcher and the Jedi came out to find Mr Giles, Xander, Buffy and Faith all looking at the strange gun with a great deal of interest.

"Okay," Xander was saying as he gently unclipped three odd-looking objects from the thing, "These look like powerpacks. Verrrry primitive ones, capable of just the one shot only, and inefficient enough to mean that while they can only provide shot, there's sufficient juice left for another if used in combination with other ones. Sort of. Looks like someone got ambitious and short-sighted at the same time. Bad combination."

"So it's an electronic gun?" asked Mr Giles, tapping the desk with his pen. "Like a, um what's the word, blaster?"

The Jedi grimaced. "Yes and no. It looks like someone tried to build something that could pack a punch but then loaded it with breadcrumbs. Might be enough here to set fire to a vampire, if you got the setting right." He paused. "Let's open it up."

"Are you sure that's a good idea, Xander?" asked Buffy. "You're not going to blow up the library are you? That would make Giles here all pouty."

Xander paused and shot Mr Giles a very odd and very fast look. "No, Buff," he said in a level voice that hid a faint ghost of amusement. "I'll be very careful." He reached out to grab a screwdriver and got to work on disassembling the gun. Five minutes later, as they all watched in fascination he straightened up. "Sithspit, that's a surprise," he muttered. Then he leant back over and pulled out a piece of equipment from the guts of the gun. It was about a foot long, not counting the trailing wires and was roughly cylindrical if you didn't count the odd projections.

The Jedi laid the thing on the table and pored over it for a second before unclipping more bits off it, stripping it down still further to a smaller cylinder. He held it up and looked hard at it. "Similar serial number to mine," he breathed and then looked up at the others. "Guys this is a superconductor. A very advanced one, similar to the one that I rescued from that hijacked shipment last year." He grinned suddenly and then placed it on the table. "It'll need cooling crystals but… it's usable Oz."

The two Jedi exchanged grins. "The Force is with us."

There was a tapping noise and they looked back to Mr Giles, who raised both eyebrows at them. "At the risk or curbing your excitement at finding something that Oz can use for building his lightsabre, I'd like to bring you back to the here and now. We have a weapon here that is rather advanced, by our standards anyway. Xander, I think that your appreciation earlier this year that there is an experimental facility of some sort in the area is a sound one. Although we cannot take our eye off the proverbial ball with regards to the Mayor's Ascension, we can keep our eyes open for any potential complications from that direction." He looked around at them all and foe the first time Wesley realised why his father has expressed such confidence in the man's abilities, despite the unorthodox history of the Giles family in the Watcher's Council. He looked, for a moment, as if his face was made from rock, all sharp angles and glinting eyes. A hard face. Then the older man smiled slightly, and the illusion was gone. "Be vigilant. But not at the expense of enjoying yourself at the upcoming Prom. Faith, are you sure that you don't want to attend? You can come as my guest, you know."

Faith raised an eyebrow. "Come on, Giles, can you see me in a Prom dress? Drinking unlaced punch?"

"I concede the point. But still, a party is a party."

"Thanks but no thanks, Giles." She looked over at Buffy. "B can carry the Slayer banner. I think she looks better in anything pink and fluffy."

Buffy grinned impishly, a gleam in her eye. "I can do the Slayer version of fluffy!"

"And in the meantime," said Xander as he picked up the superconductor, "Oz and I have some work to do."

"More training?" asked the laconic werewolf.

"Build a lightsabre and then train. And train, and keep on training, because lightsabre combat is different from sword combat. More emphasis on balance. Lighter blade, so to speak, but different strokes."

The two Jedi drifted over to the other end of the table, where they kept talking quietly. Mr Giles sighed. "I'd better get the extension cord out if I'm going to have my morning coffee when they charge that power unit," he said despairingly to Wesley's utter bafflement.

* * *

It was fascinating, she thought as she circled the dead demon in her private lab. The outer carapace was extremely hard, and had only been shattered by high velocity bullets at very close range, followed by a British bayonet, 1942 pattern, that Finn had inherited from a great uncle. But still…

Maggie Walsh smiled quietly, as she pulled her surgical mask up over her nose and looked over the various scalpels and saws at her disposal. Despite the loss of the ESG-1, she had been impressed by what Finn had been able to do. He was as good as her initial estimates had been, possibly more so. And the sample that he'd provided her with was fascinating. If it could withstand such charges from the ESG-1 then could it take a blast from a staff weapon? This was going to be interesting. She held up a scalpel and started to slice the demon open.

* * *

There should have been no satisfaction from owning a material item such as a car, and yet Xander felt a distinct feeling of contentment as he drove down the street. The sun was shining, the birds were singing, he was picking up nothing evil anywhere close with the exception of the traffic cop that was eyeing the passing cars hopefully, Oz finished building the outer casing of his lightsabre and now all they needed to do was pick up the reshaped gem from Thorne in LA.

But first he had to rent his tuxedo, which was the one fly in the ointment as it meant dealing with salespeople. They tended to deploy vast amounts of smarminess in an effort to make a sale, something that he was now immune to.

He pulled into a parking bay, carefully paid the meter and walked along the street, looking in at the shops. Sunnydale's business community always reminded him of an ice rink suspended over a ravine. The ice could crack at any moment, but the skaters kept circling and twirling and generally ignoring what was literally beneath their feet.

Then he noticed the van up ahead. It was rocking slightly. He stretched out with the Force and then frowned slightly. There was something non-human in the back of the van. It felt like a cross between a demon and a dog and it was thinking incredibly violent thoughts. Mainly about men dressed in tuxedos. This was… freaky. Then he noticed the mind of the driver sitting in the front of the van. It was hard not to, it felt as if the person had tapped into an ocean of spite and petty jealousy. It felt like a vindictive five-year-old, except that a child wouldn't have access to whatever the hell the demonic thing in the back of the van was. Xander sighed and walked up to the driver's window, where he tapped gently on the glass to attract the attention of the man inside. There was a startled moment and then a blond guy about the same age as he was wound the window down. He looked familiar. Oh yes, the name came to him now. Tucker Wells. "Yes?"

Xander reached out with the Force gently. "You're going to tell me what you're doing."

"I'm going to tell you what I'm doing…" repeated Wells, looking glassy-eyed. "I'm going to ruin the Prom by releasing a pack of hellhounds into the hall. They're going to kill all the people who made my life a misery in school. I've trained them to attack anyone in a tuxedo. I'm going to release the one in the back now as a test."

"No, you're not."

"No I'm not?"

"No. You're going to unsummon your pack of hellhounds and rethink your life."

"I'm going to unsummon them and rethink my life," repeated Wells.

"You're going to take a more active approach to things and stop being petty."

"Stop being petty," he mumbled.

"Starting right now."

"Okay," said Wells as he started the van.

Xander watched the vehicle drive away and shook his head. That had been lucky. Another crisis nipped in the bud and hopefully a life saved from evil, although admittedly low-grade 'lets be stupidly and violently' evil. Then he turned back to the shops. Okay, shopping time. Time to make with the penguin suit.

For a second time he stopped dead. He could see someone being served in the formal dress shop in front of him. She was looking at a long gown and was gesturing reluctantly. And opposite her, looking helpful was Cordelia Chase. A Cordelia Chase who was letting off vast amounts of humiliation. He could tell that without the Force. After a moment an older woman approached the pair and dismissed Cordelia with a wave of the fingers as she started to talk to the customer about the dress. And Cordelia… went without a word.

Xander sighed deeply. What the hell? He pushed the door open and walked inside.

Passing through the shop he looked in hidden amusement at the ranks of dresses to one side and the tuxedos to the other. Then he sensed a presence to one side.

"Can I help you sir?" said a cheerful voice, which then stopped dead in its tracks. "Oh. It's you."

"Cordelia, you're working here aren't you?"

"I can't hide anything from the great… Jedi," she said, whispering the last word. There was a strained pause. Then she dropped her shoulders in resignation. "Daddy had a visit from the IRS a while back. Seems that he hadn't been declaring all that he should have been. For a few years. So they took it. They took it all. House, money, dresses, everything. There's no money left for mom or for me and there's barely enough left to keep Daddy's business going. And I don't know how long it'll last.

"So if I want to have the Prom dress that I would've thrown away a year ago, I have to work. It's that simple. And after that there's no more skiing trips, no more jaunts to Paris… just work. Just life." She looked up at him and her next comment seemed to die on her lips. "I was going to say that you're loving this, but that would be the old you wouldn't it? Not the new you," she said with a perception that he had never seen in her before. "Not now."

He stared at her sadly. "No, not now, Cordelia." He paused as a woman with a smile that looked partly sincere appeared to one side.

"Miss Chase, is this… gentleman looking for anything in particular?"

"She's being very helpful," said Xander, reaching out with the force. He did not like doing this twice in five minutes. It made him uneasy. Tucker Wells had been a more important case, but this was more trivial.

The woman's smile became slightly warmer while her eyes lost their focus slightly. "Cordelia's being very helpful."

"She's going to show me to the tuxedos in a minute."

"Show you to the tuxedos," she repeated.

"You need to check on something over there."

"I need to check on something over there." She turned and walked away.

Cordelia, who had been watching this with her mouth half-open, grabbed at Xander's sleeve. "Can you make her give me a pay rise? Or let me have a discount on that dress over there? The red one?"

Xander just looked at her and she deflated slightly and rolled her eyes. "Oh right, oh great Jedi, let me guess no personal gain? That's so unfair!" She hissed.

"Cordelia, I'd live to discuss semantics with you, but, well, I'm not gonna." He looked up at the dress that she'd been pointing at. "You're working here to get a shot at that dress?"

"No," she pouted, "I'd kill for the dress I pointed at, but at the rate that I'm being paid I'm going to have to settle for something less nice. Like that heap of rags over there."

"Okay, point me in the direction of the men's department."

"Over there."

"Thanks."

"You're welcome, she said sourly and stalked off. He shook his head at retreating back and then looked to see where her now slightly befuddled boss had gone to. He needed to have a quiet word and a dip into his savings. If Cordelia wanted that dress, then she would have it. It was only fair.Then the open road called. To LA. And then back as fast as possible. They had a lightsabre to build.

* * *

The last piece clicked into place and then the handle was closed carefully. Oz blew out a long slow breath of air and then watched as Xander reached over and picked it up. "Is there a ceremony for this?"

"I think we're making a new one here and now," said Xander quietly as he reached out to place the newly completed lightsabre in the hands of his former Padawan. "This makes you a Jedi Knight in a way that I can barely come close to explaining. You've come a long way, Oz. You've seen things that have proved that you can tread the right path, that you can avoid the temptations of the Dark Side. You're ready now and this lightsabre _marks_ you as a Jedi. As someone who knows where the line against the night has been drawn.

"This lightsabre represents that which gives you a responsibility to help the needy, to defend the innocent, to always be ready to fight the Dark Side. It's no cliché to say that you have great power now – and great responsibility. Use it well."

Oz flicked the switch and the green blade sprang to life in the air above him as he looked at it. "I will."

"Good. Do or do not, there is no try. All I have to do now is train you properly in its use. And then… you must choose your own path." He smiled. "Oh and even Jedi can enjoy a party. Have a great time at the Prom with Willow."

As he turned away to the door and his costume change he thought about just what they had accomplished since he had started to train Oz. The werewolf - lapsed werewolf to be accurate, as he hadn't transformed for months now - had come a long way.

* * *

"You don't seem too disappointed at getting passed over for class clown, Xander," said Willow as she hung onto Oz's arm. This was true and he raised an eyebrow before shrugging.

"I guess it isn't as important any more, Wills. There are more important things on my mind these days. Quips and the making with the witty banter are still there, but there are other things." He smiled at the couple. "Life changes."

There was a fumbling noise behind him and he turned to see Jonathan adjusting the height of the microphone before clearing his throat nervously. "Um, there are two more awards to give out tonight, ones that the committee didn't tell the school about. I guess that there were a lot of write-ins. First things first, is, uh, is Buffy Summers here tonight?"

There was a startled pause and then a spotlight came on to reveal a stunned Buffy standing next to Giles. She gulped once and then smiled tentatively at the people around her as they formed a circle around her.

Up on the stage Jonathan nodded at her, smiled briefly and then fumbled in his pocket for a piece of paper, which he unfolded. "We're not good friends. Most of us never found the time to get to know you, but that doesn't mean we haven't noticed you. We don't talk about it much, but it's no secret that Sunnydale High isn't really like other high schools. A lot of weird stuff happens here."

A series of shouts went up at this. "The swim team!"

"Weird earthquakes!"

"Hyenas!"

"That indestructible rhino appearing on the football pitch!"

"The school getting covered in bees!"

"Snyder!" This last call brought an explosion of laughter that died away as Jonathan cleared his throat again and continued reading from the paper.

"But, whenever there was a problem or something creepy happened, you seemed to show up and stop it. Most of the people here have been saved by you, or helped by you at one time or another. We're proud to say that the Class of '99 has the lowest mortality rate of any graduating class in Sunnydale history."

To Xander's surprise the crowd started to applaud, a growing swell of noise that filled the room. Glancing over Xander could see that the Slayer was actually blushing and seemed to be speechless. The noise died again as Jonathan flapped his hands for silence.

"And we know at least part of that is because of you. So the senior class offers its thanks, and gives you, uh, this." He fumbled behind the podium and then pulled out a little silver-painted umbrella attached to a small plinth. "It's from all of us, and it has written here, 'Buffy Summers, Class Protector.'"

As the crowd started to applaud Xander joined in enthusiastically. It was typical of life on the Hellmouth that even when you thought that you'd seen everything, something came out of left field to surprise you. And this was something that could give you a bad case – or a good case, depending on your perspective – of the warm and fuzzies.

Prompted by a very gentle push from Giles, who looked as if he was about to explode with pride, the blonde Slayer made her way down an opening aisle of applauding people to the stage, where she was presented with her Class Protector award. From the emotions that she was projecting Xander could tell that she was very close to crying. As she rejoined Giles and the applause started to die down Oz and Willow appeared next to the Jedi.

"Nice," said Oz approvingly.

"Yeah," he told his pupil. "That means a lot to Buffy."

Beaming widely, Willow said: "Did you see her face? I thought she was going to explode! That's something that-"

"And we have one last award," said Jonathan from his position on the stage. "Like the last one this is a new category. Is Xander Harris here tonight?"

The crowd went quiet again and the Jedi could feel the number of faces suddenly turning in his direction. Then he was suddenly blinking slightly in the light of the spotlight that had lit up Buffy moments earlier. Resisting the need to squint he straightened up slightly and looked at the stage.

Jonathan had by now taken out another piece of paper and started to read from it. "People change but you seem to have changed the most. We've all noticed how, whenever there's a fight or an argument, whenever there's been a confrontation or a face-off, you've been there. Whenever someone's been in pain and needed to talk, you've been there. And whenever weird things have happened, you've been there to deal with stuff.

"The class of '99 has asked me to give you this," And Jonathan pulled out a small award plinth that had been painted silver and which had a gleaming metal faceplate attached to it. "And it says here: 'Xander Harris, Class Peacemaker.'"

As the crowd started to applaud Xander made his way down to the stage, trying to do his place to keep this thoughts calm. He didn't deserve this, he thought wryly, he'd just been doing his job as a Jedi. Mediating was something that came naturally now, was something that he found that he had to do. And it wasn't hard – a quiet word here, a quick interjection here, listening, talking, and being thoughtful. There had never been one outstanding moment, just a series of minor moments. But people seemed to have noticed.

As he received the award from an awkwardly smiling Jonathan, Xander suppressed a moment of pride. That emotion was something that a Jedi did not indulge in. Pride could lead to arrogance, arrogance could lead to anger, and so one down to the primrose path to the dark side.

Looking out over the applauding crowd he could see the others, Buffy and Willow beaming at him, Oz smiling, Giles nodding in satisfaction, Wesley looking oddly non-smug, Cordelia and Amy waving at him, Anya looking around in confusion and, at the back of the hall, the dark and tuxedoed shape of the vampire with a soul.

Xander stepped down from the stage and walked over to his friends.

"Well well, " he said in a slightly husky voice. "Looks like they noticed a few things Buff,"

"Yeah," she said happily, looking down at her award. "Looks like the good fight comes with sparkly bits attached!"

Behind him Xander could hear the band starting to set up. Giles cleared his throat. "Um, ah, congratulations both of you. I must say that American teenagers can be remarkably perceptive sometimes. It makes up for the overuse of the word 'dude'. Just about." He looked around as the lights started to dim for the dancing. "Please, everyone, enjoy yourselves tonight. We don't often get a chance to have a party, but in this case I think that it's a case of carpe diem." He smiled at them all, but they all knew what he had left unsaid. The Graduation ceremony was just days away. But tonight it was time to dance.

* * *

"The Maxwell case is a done deal, the defence settled with us out of court for 15 percent above the settlement price that we were asking for in return for the return of the photos and the video footage of the defendant and the demoness. We have a reserve copy of both just to be on the safe side, plus the details of the dimension that the demoness is hiding in." Lilah smiled and Lindsey scowled inwardly. She had done a good job admittedly, but it was never good to see a rival doing well. He looked away back down to his notepad. Why was he feeling like this, like it shouldn't matter what Lilah did? She was an ambitious cast-iron bitch and he should be feeling a lot of professional – and personal – rivalry against her. But nothing at the moment.

"Good job, Lilah," said Holland as he scribbled something on his notepad. Then he looked up. "Well, a good week all round. Please submit your reports on time and I'll see you all on Monday. Have a good weekend."

With a general muttering of subdued conversation and rustling of papers the room started to empty, the end of the meeting being the cue for a nondescript office cleaner to come in and start to tend to the plants by the window. As Lindsey walked through the door he noticed that Lilah was looking rather smug.

"Something amusing?" he asked her as they walked down the corridor. She stopped and raised an eyebrow.

"You're getting slow, Lindsey," she purred. "Didn't you pick it up during the meeting?"

"Pick up what?"

"Harry, can I have a moment?" said Holland's voice from the room and he saw Wolfit turn to walk back into the room, where the doors closed suddenly. A chill went though him.

"Now you see it, don't you? Poor Harry. He had the wrong friends." She turned and dismissed him with a wave of a languid hand. "You should make sure that doesn't happen to you." Then she turned back. "Watch."

* * *

Harry turned back into the room with an inward sigh. This was bound to be about that damn case involving that will drawn up by that equally damned lawyer Dallas. It had more loopholes than a lace doily and he was half tempted to put a contract out on the halfwits life so that he never bothered the legal profession ever again.

Manners was making a few notes on an internal report at the end of the table and looked up as he approached. "Ah, Harry, I just wanted a quick word with you. How's the Cat case going?"

"We should come close to a settlement in a week or so. The will's legally just about alright but we need to close down some of the possible complications. My team's working on it." He heard a puffing noise to one side and he caught sight of the cleaner using a water spray on the deep green leaves of the plant next to the window.

"Good," said Holland approvingly. "Always good to delegate. Well done Harry."

"Thank you sir," he replied and made for the door again. Just as he was passing the cleaner Holland cleared his throat.

"Oh by the way Harry, did you hear about that accident the other day?"

"Accident sir?"

"In the research department. Terrible thing, one of the labs exploded. Led to the death of a technician."

Harry Wolfit's mouth went very dry suddenly but he turned back to Manners and raised an eyebrow. "They do always have accidents down there sir."

"They certainly do, but in this case the guy – one Walter Hutchins – was quite experienced." Manners leant back in his chair. "He was a relative of your wife I'm afraid."

Harry kept his face stoical. "What a shame."

"Yes. Interesting last words too."

"Last words sir?" He said in a level voice. Damnit he'd left the lightsabre back in his desk. It might be useful now.

Manners pulled out a piece of paper and looked at it. "'I wanted… see Harry… kill Manners.'" He read out. Then he looked up with eyes that were as hard as granite. "I applaud the idea of revenge, Harry, this firm was built on it. But over ambition does come with a price tag attached. Goodbye Harry."

Harry stared at him for a moment and then pulled the top off his pen, ready to stab the murdering bastard with it, only there was suddenly a small cold piece of metal against the back of his neck and as he tried to turn he suddenly wondered where the cleaner had gone as he couldn't see him and…

* * *

Lindsey jumped slightly as the blood and other matter splashed on the glass partition. Then the door opened again and the cleaner came out unscrewing a silencer from his gun before vanishing down the corridor, as nondescript as ever. From inside he heard Holland tell his secretary that a clean-up crew would be needed for the conference room.

Turning back to Lilah he could see that her smug grin had hitched up a notch. "Helps if you know what to look for," she purred and then sashayed off to the lifts. Lindsey shook his head and moved on. There'd be a new face at the morning meetings and he wondered idly who it was. Ah well, that was something minor to worry about.

* * *

The lift doors opened and Lilah exploded out of them, pulling off her fashionable shoes so that she could run faster. She had just 15 minutes to get into Wolfit's office before the security team got there to strip it completely, the usual practice when someone had their contract terminated with extreme prejudice by the company. A short amount of time, but enough to see if there was anything worth looting from the place. Dead men had no secrets and she had found out some pretty neat things from other equally dead people. Reaching the office she checked the door quickly, failed to find any security marks that placed it out of bounds and moved in.

She had a routine for this now, a routine that was fast and efficient. Close the door almost completely so that any approaching security people could be heard a way off. Check the back of the picture that invariably hung on the wall behind the chair. Nothing, but then only a moron would have hidden anything there. Parkinson had been a moron but Wolfit had not been one. She stared at the carpet, looking at the join where it met the walls. No lumps, no discolorations so nothing left under there. The filing cabinet was too obvious for words and she didn't even look there.

Which left the desk. She bent down to look under it. Nothing taped to the underside, no disks wedged underneath. She made a note of the construction though. It was a wooden box, so there might be something inside it. Straightening up she went around the desk and opened the side drawers carefully. Nothing in there. That just left the main drawer. She slid it out and stole a glance at her watch. Damn, seven minutes 20 seconds gone already.

Nothing in there either. Then she frowned. She had heard something metallic click as she had pulled the drawer back, but the only metal objects in it were some paperclips, which did not click at all. Aha. False compartment. Reaching in she tugged and pulled for half a minute, conscious that time was ticking away. Then she got lucky. Pushing against a certain place resulted in a soft wooden sound as a compartment opened up. She pulled it open quickly.

Okay, a picture of his family, how predictable the sad sentimental bastard. Then a report. Hum, this looked promising. She pulled it out and stuffed it in her bag. Then she saw what was underneath and stopped dead. No. That was impossible. But why would he have something like that hidden in his office?

Something rattled far off down the corridor, accompanied by the rumble of voices. Lilah jerked slightly. Damn, no more time. She grabbed the object, pushed the compartment back in place, replaced the drawer and was walking down the corridor by the time that the security detail had moved into Wolfit's office. The object was safe in a pocket and she caressed it with a secret smile. A few months back an informant had given her a very garbled account of a demon that had vanished after telling a few people that he had a real lightsabre. Nothing had come of it and she'd chalked it down to stupidity. Now she wasn't so sure. She would find somewhere quiet and safe to look at it in more detail. She had the sudden feeling that something significant had happened but she couldn't put her finger on what or why. But the feeling was very strong.

Acting on an impulse she stopped dead and looked around carefully. No-one around. Then she darted into a supply cupboard to one side and pulled the object out of her pocket. Okay, a series of controls down the side, along with one button that was larger than the others. She pushed it.

A red blade extended itself with the distinctive hum and she stared at it, her face bathed in the red glow. And then she smiled.


	26. Graduation Day

Well, damn, this one turned out quite fast didn't it? Life has been less hectic than normal. That's my excuse anyway. By the way, one reviewer has asked about Giles and his mug that bore the strange devide HIPY PAPY. I refer you all to the time when Pooh Bear talked to Owl about Eeyore's present. In the A.A. Milne story I stress. Enjoy. (By the way, it's been a while since I put up a disclaimer. Ok, I don't own these characters. Humph. Sulking now.)

* * *

He was in the middle of removing Kate Moss's bra with his teeth when all of a sudden she started to wail. Lindsey frowned. It was a nice day, the bed was next to the sea, the pina coladas were chilling nicely under the ice sculpture of the giant koala bear and they hadn't even got to the sex yet. The wail got louder and louder and it was just like…

His eyes sprang open and he glared balefully at the phone next to his bed. Typical. That had about to be a really hot dream and instead he had been awoken by his goddamned phone. His eyes dropped to the alarm clock next to it. It was 5.30am? Who the hell would ring him at that hour on a Sunday morning? Then the glare turned to a frown. The phone was wailing. That meant that-

His hand shot out from the sheets and grabbed the receiver so fast that he almost dropped it. "McDonald," he snapped tersely.

There was an odd noise as whatever security system Wolfram & Hart was using clicked in and then a voice started to speak in the stilted tones of a recorded message: "Recall. All personnel are recalled to Wolfram & Hart. This is not a drill. Recall."

He stared at the phone in total disbelief. As long as he had worked for the firm he'd never heard of a general recall announcement. According to the old-timers the last time that it had happened was when Nixon went down in flames in 1974 after the Senior Partners received a warning not to even think about interfering.

Putting the phone back on its cradle he shot out of bed and into his closet to pull out a shirt and tie, which he hurriedly put on as he started the coffee machine, spilling some of the ground coffee as he did so, and rammed two pieces of bread into the toaster. Darting back to the closet he pulled on some underwear, grabbed a pair of pants, fell over the bed as he tried to walk and pull at the same time and then grabbed a pair of socks and some shoes.

Back in the kitchen, putting on the socks with one hand as he poured the coffee with the other, he stared out of the window. A recall. What the hell was going on? There was a springing noise behind him and he grabbed the toast as it shot into the air, stifling a curse at how hot it was. A quick smear of butter and he was munching toast as he put his shoes on, brushing crumbs off his socks. The coffee was ready now and he took a few sorely needed gulps, before bolting the rest of his toast and then dashing for the door, grabbing his briefcase on the way.

By the time Lindsey pulled into the car park he was feeling really freaked. The place was filling up fast with bewildered Wolfram & Hart personnel, all in various degrees of dishevelment and all displaying the kind of bewilderment that he was feeling. The lobby was even worse – it sounded as if everyone was busy talking at the same time. As soon as one of the security officers laid eyes on him he came over.

"Mr McDonald? Mr Manners has asked for everyone from his team to be in Conference Room 1 ASAP."

Nodding, Lindsey made for the elevators, joining up with Lee as the other lawyer darted through the crowd. He had coffee stains on his shirt, fortunately mostly hidden by his tie and he was red-eyed.

"I don't suppose you have any idea about what's going on?"

"Nope," replied Lindsey, jabbing his thumb on the button for the 6th Floor. "General recall, that's all I know."

"Typical," the thin lawyer groused. "It would happen on a Sunday."

As they exited the elevator they could see that the room was starting to fill up with puzzled lawyers. Lindsey frowned slightly as he looked at the glass partition. At least they'd been able to get Wolfit's blood cleaned up. Sitting down he stared around and then stopped. Lilah was sitting almost opposite him, looking as cool as a cucumber, immaculately dressed and without a hair out of place. He had to admit that he admired her sang-froid. The rest of her he would have loved to drop into a vat of acid and then sit back with a bucket of popcorn to watch her messy and painful death. He could make a lot of money by selling tickets for a start. She shot him a cool glance as if she could feel his dislike for her and then looked around the room, coming close to curling her lip at the state of some of the people coming in and slumping into chairs.

After a few minutes there was a clatter of feet in the corridor outside and then Holland Manners swept into the room. Lindsey stared. Normally Holland was neat and tidy and in full control of his features. Today he looked rumpled. His tie was loose, his shirtsleeves were rolled up and he was frowning direfully. He reached his chair at the head of the table and looked around the room.

"Everyone's finally here, good. Now listen up, because we have a situation here. At 2.10am last night one of the Seers on the upper floors had a vision. A Level Five vision to be precise."

There was a stunned silence. Lindsey leant back in his chair thoughtfully. Visions came in different levels of clarity and intensity. A Level One was a vague feeling that something might happen. A Level Two was what many people might describe as déjà vu. A Level Three was a murky glimpse and a Level Four was what most prophecies were – a general idea with a lot of missing details. A Level Five was very rare, being clear, powerful and containing a lot of detail that could be extremely helpful.

"What were the details?" he asked carefully.

Holland looked at him. "Unfortunately it was a very brief glimpse as the Seer's brain couldn't take the power involved. She had enough time to scream 'Sunnydale' and 'Old One' before her head exploded."

Several people around the room winced. The power involved in that kind of vision was massive. That or something wanted to remain hidden. Either way it wasn't good.

Holland leant on the desk and looked around with eyes that were full of icy resolve. "I don't have to stress too much that the Senior Partners take anything involving the Old Ones extremely seriously. The old demons were powerful and very destructive. While the destructive part is fine with us, the powerful part isn't. They've ordered a full investigation into all the possibilities.

"Now," he said as he moved to sit down in his chair, "The odds are that the Sunnydale mentioned is the Hellmouth. There are a few other towns by that name, and the firm is looking at these carefully, but we're acting under the assumption that the Seer meant Sunnydale California. Which brings up a new set of problems."

"The Arrangement," said Lee flatly.

"Exactly. This means that we can't investigate directly." Holland leant back in his own seat and steepled his fingers. "But we can investigate indirectly. I want everyone to pull all your notes and case files relating to the Hellmouth, even indirectly. I want a full analysis of every event going back however far as you need to go. Wilkins has been around a long time, but Wolfram & Hart was around the day that the first caveman discovered the joys of hitting the caveman next door with a large pointy rock. If an Old One is returning then there will be signs and portents. If an Old One is being consulted there will be signs and portents. There always are, the damn things drop out of trees sometimes. Get to work people, the Senior Partners are impatient."

As the room emptied fast – using the words 'Senior Partners' and 'impatient' tended to have that effect – Lindsey stopped and winced internally as he heard Holland call: "Lindsey, I need a word." Trying to forget the mental image of Wolfit's brains being spattered across the wall, he turned back. Holland was looking at the files that were now partly spread across the desk. Then he looked up. "Lindsey, I need you to go through the Arrangement with a fine toothcomb. Look for any loopholes, any way that we can get a toe in the door of that damn place. When you were negotiating it, you said that you had a feeling that he was up to something I think?"

Taking a deep breath Lindsey cast his mind back. "Yes sir. He seemed to spin out some things, like the legal rights of demonic entities, too much, whilst conceding things like business arrangements too quickly. He seemed to be trying to make it feel like business as usual, but that it really didn't matter as long as he got the deal done."

There was a long pause as Holland stared at a point on the ceiling, mulling this over. "Interesting," he said eventually. "Wilkins has been around for a century or more. He's a good negotiator. And very savvy. I thought that he was too clever to get involved with the Old Ones. Maybe I was wrong. Unless…" His eyes narrowed. "Well, let's not get too ahead of ourselves. Look at the Arrangement and also take a look at your notes from the negotiations. See if there was anything that stands out."

Lindsey nodded. "Yes sir." As he left the room he found himself wondering what the hell was going on and if this Xander Harris had any idea.

* * *

The sound of two lightsabres igniting at the same time brought Giles' eyebrows up and his face around the door to his office. The two Jedi were standing there opposite each other, holding their weapons in the same defensive pose.

"Now," Xander was saying, "You're going to find that there are changes involved with lightsabre fighting when compared to sword fighting. For one thing, using a lightsabre can require more balance and finesse."

This was true, mused Giles. When he had seen Xander fighting the Sith version of himself earlier that year he had been amazed by the flowing nature of the attacks, the way that the two men had flowed from position to position.

"Slicing through something with a lightsabre can be very easy due because of the blade. But," stressed the Jedi, "We're going to have to get you started on fast responses. You already use the Force in your attacks. Using a lightsabre will allow you to pick up the pace against the things that we fight. So we're going to go with a twin-track approach. Hone reflexes again and practice fighting."

He shut his lightsabre down and reached into his pocket. "Here's something I've been working on for a while, and you have no idea how it took me to build," he said, pulling out a silver globe that fitted into the palm of his hand. It had small indentations staggered along its surface and it looked vaguely familiar. Then he smiled. "Here's the quote you've been waiting for: Stretch out with your feelings!" Then he flipped something on top of the globe and threw it in the air. There was a sudden hum of power and suddenly the object was hanging in the air about six feet off the ground. Giles gaped incredulously but Oz seemed to take it in his stride.

"Is this my Millennium Falcon moment?" asked Oz as he brought his lightsabre up into a pose that Giles recognized as being one of the main defensive positions.

"Yup," replied Xander. "But I don't think that you're going to need the blast shield down on any helmet."

The globe seemed to almost sniff the air for a second and then darted to one side, turning slightly as it did. Then it sprang up, almost too fast for Giles to see and spat out two red shards of energy. But Oz was just as fast, the lightsabre flashing out and to one side to absorb both.

"Good," said Xander approvingly as the target drone buzzed once and then moved around into another attacking position. "But you need to hone your reaction time. Use the Force to feel not just where the drone is, but where it's going to go next. Anticipate, focus and act."

Giles returned to his office and sat down feeling slightly dazed. Life could throw a bit of a googlie your way sometimes. Every time he thought that he was getting used to the Hellmouth it threw up something new. Then he sighed and returned his gaze to the board in front of him. There were still a few areas that he was unclear about.

* * *

It was a good spot. Nice and open, plenty of fresh air, a solid podium to stand on and an audience to dozens of empty chairs. Richard Wilkins placed his hands on each side of the stand and took a deep breath. "You've done a good job."

Snyder smiled awkwardly. It looked like an expression that the man almost never used. Shame he was such a rodent, but you had to use the tools you were given sometimes, and Snyder had been a real find. He was devious, emotionally stunted and had the morals of a degenerate weasel. That said, he was a good choice for principal, as he ruled the school with a rod of iron and had got a large number of students through to graduation.

That suited Wilkins perfectly. The more the merrier.

"Seriously, you've done very well. And your efforts will not go unrewarded, let me tell you. Yes sir, all debts will be paid in full."

Snyder looked a bit uncertain about this praise and tried the thing with his lips that was normally called a smile again. "Thank you sir," he said after a moment. "If you need anything else for the ceremony, please let me know at once."

Looking out over the place where he planned to Ascend, Wilkins shook his head slightly. "Looks good from this standpoint." Then he hopped down from the lectern. "Well, I need to go polish my speech. Should be a good one. Very positive, very full of power," he said, smiling slightly. Oh yes. Full of many things and then topped off by something that ought to bring the house down. Guaranteed memorable. "I'll just take myself off. Have a wander through the halls and leave you to the final tweaks that you do so well."

Leaving a preening Snyder behind him Wilkins put his hands in his pockets and ambled off, whistling under his breath.

* * *

Holland looked up as Lindsey knock on the open door of the office. If anything he looked even more haggard than before. "Come in," he said crisply, closing the folder he had been reading and adding it to the growing pile on his desk. "What have you got?"

Wolfram & Hart's original copy of the Arrangement made a satisfyingly heavy clunk as Lindsey laid it on the desk and slumped into a seat. "It's pretty watertight sir. He may have been trying to conceal something, but he still made the damn thing as comprehensive as possible. It keeps us out. If we so much as send a snatch squad into the place they come back in bodybags, provided that there's enough left for a bodybag. And it's non-negotiable. He's got us over a barrel sir."

Holland sighed deeply and pulled the Arrangement towards him. "I was afraid of that. The Senior Partners are not going to pleased about this. And they can't intervene in this situation. He made sure of that. They can't even lean on his contacts in the demon hierarchy – they either don't know anything or are out of touch."

"There is one small loophole sir," said Lindsey slowly.

Holland looked up quickly. "Which is?"

"There's a provision for Wolfram & Hart to send a single representative – the person who last negotiated the Arrangement – into Sunnydale if and only if 'There exists a valid crisis which would result in the breakdown of confidence between the two parties and which can only be resolved by urgent negotiations.'" He looked at Holland grimly. "It's on page 318, sub-paragraph 108 (a). Seems to be an emergency clause. Never been used as far as I know."

His superior nodded, his eyes spacing out slightly as he thought hard. "Never needed to be used, you mean," growled Holland as he leant forwards and opened the legal documents to the right page. "Hum. Yes, quite right. That could just be our foot in the door." He looked up again. "Which would mean that you go, as the latest person to negotiate it."

"Yes sir," said Lindsey feeling as grim as he probably looked.

Shooting him a careful glance Holland picked up a phone and dialed swiftly. "Lindsey McDonald will need a car as soon as possible. No problems are to be permitted. Set it up." The phone went down again. "I'm authorising you to go to Sunnydale as quickly as possible. If Wilkins notices you in the town, then tell him that there's a problem. Be as inventive as you like. But find out what the hell is going on."

"Yes sir. What if I need backup?"

"I'm going to have the tactical support squad ready to go if you give the word. They'll be based in Granton, just outside the Sunnydale city limits. If you need them, call me and I'll release them to you. Get moving, Lindsey, we might not have much time here." Holland picked up the phone again and was already speaking into it as Lindsey left the room. It looked like he was going back to the Hellmouth. Only this time in far more dangerous circumstances.

* * *

The gang was all here, including Angel, who had been busy chasing up a few contacts in the underworld but who was now lurking in the shadows by the stairs to the book stacks, keeping away from the shards of sunlight that came through the windows. Xander looked around the library, which had a sign on the outside that announced that it was closed for bookkeeping. If his plan worked out properly – and it was still lacking that one vital part – then he was going to miss this place. Alright, it was over the Hellmouth, but he'd had some fun times here, if you could describe planning to avert apocalypses a fun thing to do.

He looked back at the table. Giles had pulled the big strategy board out, with its various pictures of the Mayor, the odd happenings in his administration, the map of Sunnydale and all the other bits of evidence, including the picture of the woman who had become a wraith. He had a feeling that they were linked somehow, but he couldn't say how.

Oz was sitting next to Willow, who was talking quietly to Buffy and Faith. The dark-haired Slayer was grinning lazily at Willow's cheerful comments, mixed in with Buffy's quips. She seemed a lot less strained and hollow than the first time that he'd met her. She seemed happy and accepted, almost thoughtful at times. Giles and Wesley were at the board, muttering together over aspects of the Ascension, whilst Amy and Cordelia were quietly talking at the back. Cordelia had been genuinely moved at the fact that he had bought her dress for her for the Prom, something that had probably caught her totally unaware. In a nice way of course. And there was Anya, looking as if she needed a wild horse to drag her out of there. She looked as if she needed Jonathan, who was off talking to a local priest who just happened to be his cousin. They needed a lot of Holy Water if this was to work – or rather if his reserve plan to cover every eventuality was to work. That was something he had definitely picked up from his Obi-Wan memories. As a General, think about what else might happen as well as what might go right or wrong. The more eventualities you had in your head, the less chance that a nasty surprise would bite you on the ass. He thought about Genosis and shuddered slightly. Always plan to cover as many eventualities as possible.

Then he frowned. Something odd was approaching the library. It wasn't a vampire, but it didn't feel entirely human. It felt… freaky. By now Oz could sense it as well, because he suddenly stood up.

Buffy looked at the two of them and then she and Faith were on their feet as well, looking at the doors, which was where the two Jedi were now staring at.

"Giles, something's coming," muttered Xander and then the doors swung open to reveal Richard Wilkins the Third. He was dressed in cream slacks, a light blue shirt, a yellow sweater was knotted carelessly around his neck and had his hands in his pockets. He blinked slightly at the sight of the reception committee and then smiled toothily. "Well hello there. So this is Slayer Central. My gosh, and a reception committee for me as well."

Wilkins looked around and then shot a look at Xander and Oz. "Or should that be the Jedi Temple? I don't think that Sunnydale looks much like Coruscant, depending on how the books have described it. Shame. Might be neat to see a place like that." He smiled easily, but Xander could see the hard edge behind the affable front.

Still with his hands in his pockets Wilkins wandered over to the pile of returned books, before reaching out to pick one up. "Pride and Prejudice. Ah. Good book. It's such a relief to see that the youth of Sunnydale still read some real classics. Develops the mind, reading. Widens your knowledge. Expands the brain." Wilkins paused and smiled briefly at this last point, his tongue flickering quickly out of the corner of his mouth as he looked at them almost slyly, as if something amused him about that last part of the sentence, a joke that they wouldn't get.

Then he put the book down and turned around, sniffing slightly in the air. "I smell fear. I don't blame you. Lovely smell though. Nice taste."

Xander stared impassively back at Wilkins. "No fear here. You must have the wrong address."

This brought another smile to the face of the Mayor. "Oh, the Jedi mantra! Fear leads to anger, anger leads to hate and all that stuff. Wonderful gibberish by the way."

"If you're mocking me, all you're achieving is wasted breath. Mocking successfully requires pride and I'm just a Jedi. No pride here. Just resolve."

Wagging a finger at him as he crossed the room Wilkins smiled. "Well, it was worth a try. How's your Padawan learner by the way?"

"Jedi," said Oz impassively, reaching out to place a reassuring hand on Willow's arm.

"Really? Already? That was fast. Learnt everything yet?" Wilkins looked up from the bookstore, where he had been running a finger over the wires. "Tut tut, you need to dust more in here. Dust is very bad for books Mr Giles, I'm surprised at you."

"We had other concerns," said the Watcher, looking at Wilkins through narrowed eyes.

"So I can see," came the reply as Wilkins walked over to the board and looked at the assembled pieces of paper and photographs, wiping the dust off his finger in a fastidious manner with a handkerchief. "My, my, you found that old picture of me and Wilhelm. Odd guy, very insecure. Half English, you know. Well, half English royal family, there's a difference. Great hat though, looked as if he had a chicken on it. Keen on education and killing things." The smile came and went again, more lingering this time. "Great minds think alike." His gaze shifted to another picture. "Dick Nixon was different case. Brilliant but I never trusted him. Kind of slimy, even for a politician. Broke the great rule – never get found out. Plus he owed me fifty bucks. Good thing for him that I never charged him compound interest."

Wilkins turned back again to face them. "You've been very busy. I'm impressed. Of course you must know that there's no chance of your defeating me."

"We've seen worse odds. Seen worse things," said Buffy in a very quiet and forceful voice. "We've beaten the odds a lot of times."

"What happens when your luck runs out?"

"We make our own."

Wilkins looked at Giles with a smile. "You know, you've brought up this girl to have guts. I like that. I'm going to open her up when I ascend and floss my teeth with them."

Giles stood up quickly, but Xander was at his side in a flash, putting a hand out to grab his shoulder. "He's not worth it, Giles."

This made Wilkins shake his head in mock-sorrow. "You know, that's what irritates me about you Jedi. You have no sense of humour about certain things. Very boring. I'm going to enjoy killing you." He looked around. "In fact I'm going to enjoy killing all of you. But especially you," he said, looking at Buffy as his eyes hardened. "You've been a menace to the well-being of my operations here since you first arrived. Poking your nose in everything, meddling with things that you don't understand, could never even comprehend if you lived as long as I have. Mr Harris and his Jedi pup here are aberrations, but a Slayer in Sunnydale has all kinds of knock-on effects that I've had to deal with. Especially as you were stupid enough to get yourself killed and spawn another ignorant slattern."

For a second the look became a glare and then just as suddenly the smile was back. "Well, can't stand here and blather! I have to polish off my graduation address. You should stick around and hear it – it's going to be memorable in all kinds of ways and-" He stopped dead in his tracks, quivered slightly and then walked over to the board. Then he reached out and ripped a piece of paper off to stare at the picture of Suzanne Morecombe.

Then he looked around it, his eyes darting to the various articles about her disappearance, the murder of Matt Stevens, the collapse of the Second Sunnydale Savings & Loan and finally Oz's drawings of the face of the wraith.

"Ah," he said eventually in a cold voice that seemed to reverberate slightly. "You found Suzanne. What a shame. Have you tried to vanquish her yet?"

"She's buried in a small graveyard in the desert," said Giles softly, looking at Wilkins carefully. Xander raised an eyebrow at him and he shrugged slightly, as if to say let's play this one out. "So yes, she was vanquished."

Wilkins wrenched his face from the board and glared at him. His face looked blotchy and one of his eyes was twitching. He looked as if a murderous rage was only just being held in check. Then he seemed to take a deep breath and calm down a little.

"Something else to hold against you, Mr Giles," he said through almost clenched teeth. "I went to a lot of trouble to punish her. She should have suffered a lot longer for her betrayal of me. Her own great-grandfather as well. So much potential and she threw it away on that thieving piece of filth Stevens. Even had his spawn. They planned to run away with half the money that they'd stolen but I found out first. Swapped the money. Had her herded into a place where there was no escape. No hope. Just despair. A wound leading to massive blood loss. And a pointless existence as a wraith. As for him, he made a good sacrifice to a hell god who need some… delicacies." His eyes gleamed in an odd and rather unsettling way at this last bit. Then he looked at Giles, who had walked over to Buffy.

"Miss Summers, I'm going to rip your limbs off and then stick your helpless bleeding living torso on the podium to scream whilst I kill everyone else at the Graduation first. Including your Watcher."

"You sure do talk a lot. Oh wait, you're a politician, it comes with the territory, right?" countered Buffy, looking at her nails dismissively. Then she looked up. "Why are you so ticked that she was vanquished when you had her turned into a dribbling dark thing in the first place?"

"She was family," said the Mayor as he walked to the doors. "I was going to vanquish her myself in a few decades, once she'd learnt her lesson."

"She was an insane, evil phantasm, who murdered anyone who came near her," objected Giles.

"You need to see the big picture. And she was family." Wilkins paused and looked around at them. "See you at the Graduation ceremony. Wear clothes that can be easily digested. And don't eat too many chillies."

As the doors closed behind him Giles expelled a long breath of air. "Well that was…. Unexpected. And quite interesting."

"What, because he wants to eat us all?" asked Faith, looking at the picture of Morecombe. "She does look a bit like him, if you squint a lot."

Giles looked at Xander, who nodded somberly. "I think we have the missing element in our plan, Giles."

"Indeed," said the Watcher, looking suddenly slightly haunted. "And I must say that the missing element frightens me somewhat."

This brought Buffy's head around. "Plan? You guys have a plan to take care of the giant snake? Come on, spill!"

In response Giles held up a finger in admonishment and then walked to the doors, where he pulled out a key and locked them firmly. Then he walked back, throwing the key at Xander, who was already walking back to the doors at the back of the library. "Yes, well, when Xander gets back from making sure that the library is secure, he and I will explain. We've been able to use some of the knowledge of General Kenobi that Xander can remember to formulate a plan." He paused to pull off his glasses and clean them. "It's, ah, risky, I have to say. It involves a certain amount of extreme danger. And it will make an impression on the high school. But it is the best way to deal with the Mayor." He turned to grab the frame for the blackboard that he'd stashed away in his office earlier that day. As he placed the blackboard on it he turned to face Xander as he came back from locking up. "I believe that now would be a good time to show our hand. Xander. If you would be so kind as to explain?"

* * *

Xander put the piece of chalk down and turned from the blackboard to face the others. There was a long silence that was finally broken by Oz leaning forwards and simply saying: "Interesting."

Buffy raised her eyebrows at him. He had laid it out very clearly, obviously in full Obi-Wan mode with added Xanderness, but the ambition of what he'd been hatching with Giles had taken her by surprise. "Xander it's a bit risky isn't it?"

He nodded slowly, walking over with his arms clasped in front of him, his hands gripping his forearms and sliding into his sleeves. "Yes, it is. But we don't have many options. We need to draw him away from the others, we need to neutralize the horde of vampires that he'll be bringing with him and we need to corral him into a place where he can be disabled and then killed. And all without him suspecting anything. That's going to take tactics and timing, which are the pre-requisites of any successful military plan."

There was another silence. This time Willow broke it as she looked at Oz with large eyes. "It's going to be very dangerous," she said hesitantly.

He smiled down at her. "If it means taking care of a large snake that wants to eat you, then I can do 'very dangerous.'"

"The Mayor's pet marine, Tagget, is going to be there," said Angel thoughtfully. "And he's been recruiting some vampire muscle. Some big muscle."

"That's why we need you and your group," replied Xander, jabbing his finger at the plan again to the spot marked 'ARC'. For some reason his lips were twitching sardonically as he looked at the label and Buffy could see that the word 'Troopers' has been erased beneath it. "Angel, you and the Reserve Company need to come at them from behind and to one side, to catch them in a crossfire. Be careful – there's going to be a lot of holy water flying around once Jonathan opens up."

The Angel nodded thoughtfully and then looked at Xander appraisingly. "It's a good plan."

"There's no such thing as a good plan, there are just plans that succeed and those that fail. Once this thing starts it's going to become unpredictable – all battles do. We just need to cover as many bases as we can. Any more questions?"

"Yeah, I'll ask the obvious one," said Cordelia with her eyebrows raised, "Where the hell are you going to get that much explosives?"

This earned her a very Xanderish grin. "Leave that to us. Oz, we need your van tonight. We need to requisition some equipment in the name of the Galactic Republic."

* * *

"Good afternoon. My name is Lindsey McDonald and I have a reservation for the night," said Lindsey as he smiled at the attractive brunette at the main desk of the hotel. She smiled back at him as she searched through the computer that dealt with the guest list for the Sunnydale Majestic Hotel and then looked up.

"Yes Mr McDonald, Suite 13 is reserved in your name, on the fifth floor. Here is your key and I'll call for someone to help you with your baggage."

"Thanks but I can cope."

"Certainly. The elevators are around the corner. Have a nice day."

"God I hate that phrase," muttered Lindsey under his breath as he walked to the elevators and jabbed the up button. It sounded so trite. The lift dinged and he got in.

His suite looked well worth the money that the company was paying – it was large, expensive and private, but he still used the vampire repelling and spell nullifying amulet that Wolfram & Hart provided all employees who were staying out of town. You never knew, especially in Sunnydale.

He unpacked quickly, connecting up his laptop and laying out the various clothes that he'd brought with him, before he stood next to the windows and took out his cell phone. Hitting speed dial he then waited until the encryption software kicked in before it started to ring on the other side.

"Lindsey," said the tired voice of Holland Manners, "I take it that you're there."

"Yes sir, I just got in. Can I ask if there have been any developments?"

"None. By the way we pulled the files on the Slayers that are there in Sunnydale. We're uploading everything now. You should have them soon. If anyone knows anything that might be about to happen, the Slayers might. You are authorised to investigate all aspects of the Hellmouth, Lindsey."

His scalp crawled. "You want me to contact the Slayers?"

"No, just keep an eye on them. If they're patrolling normally then they don't think that anything's wrong. If they're worried about something – like an Old One returning – then it'll show. Good luck Lindsey. We're all counting on you. The Senior Partners have asked me to tell you that you have their full support." The line went dead.

Great, though the Lawyer as he stared over Sunnydale. I have the full support of a bunch of evil demon lords and assorted lawyers. That's reassuring. Then he turned back to his laptop as it beeped. A large amount of data had been emailed to him and he sat down to look it over, rubbing the back of his neck reflectively as he did. Then he paused and reread a part. Interesting. Okay, time to go back to school.

* * *

Boredom can be a terrible thing and at that particular moment Corporal Bob Grammell was bored out of his skull. Guard duty sucked, big time. All he had to do was walk the perimeter of the Army base twice an hour. That was it. There wasn't much else. The guardroom had a coffee machine, so the highlight of the night was sometimes changing the filter. That was enough to bring him up in goosebumps. Not.

He sighed, shifted his rifle slightly on his shoulder and walked on. Orders were orders. In this case orders were pointless orders. Who in their right mind would want to steal from this place? Everything was locked up tighter than Fort Knox. True there was a large amount of ammunition and explosives around, but to get to this place you had to go through security that was truly scary. Plus there were the guards – like him. Fearless protectors of the base and all that crap.

He let out another sigh. The last time that there had been any excitement had been when Harriman shot that gopher by mistake. Trudging on he turned a corner and then perked up slightly. He could hear a car engine. That was odd. Nothing was due for a week. The sound grew louder and then stopped and he could hear the sound of doors opening. It seemed to be at the other end of the bunker and he picked up the pace slightly.

When he reached the other end he paused in confusion. A civilian van was parked outside the bunker and four men and a blonde girl were loading explosives into the back of it. They looked like civilians and one of them had stopped and was walking towards him.

"Who the hell are you?" snapped Grammell, unslinging his rifle and bringing it up to cover them. "Let's see some ID now while I call the guardroom."

The man – a dark haired guy who seemed to be quite young and who had an odd cylinder attached to his belt – shook his head slowly. "You're not going to call the guardroom," he said reassuringly.

"I'm not going to call the guardroom," repeated Grammell, a warm and lazy feeling starting to creep over him.

"And you don't need to see our identification."

"I don't need to see your identification." The warm and fuzzy feeling was very strong now. There was no threat here. He felt almost sleepy.

"You're going to patrol the far corner of the base and forget all about us,"

"I'm going to patrol the far side and forget about you," he said and strode off slowly, returning his rifle to its earlier position. After a while he shook his head. He felt as if something was nagging at the back of his mind. Then he shrugged. It couldn't have been important.

* * *

Xander stared after the retreating figure of the guard and then strode back to the bunker. "The guards here are terrible," he muttered to Giles, who was busy lugging a large box marked 'C-4' with a moderate amount of unconcern.

"Yes, well, they are stuck in the middle of the Californian desert, with little to guard against but coyotes. This place appears to be a trifle dull," said the Watcher as the crate he was carrying thumped into the back of Oz's van and causing Wesley to flinch slightly. "Relax Wesley," he said wearily, "This stuff won't explode without a detonator. You can place some plastic explosives into a fire and they won't explode."

"I'm not sure that that's very reassuring," said the younger Watcher. He looked at the contents of the van critically. "Is that enough yet?"

"Not quite," mused Xander as he assessed the collection of explosives. "A bit more. This, plus the extra dynamite we kept from making the Judge go boom and the ammonium nitrate that we got from that farm store should be an interesting combination."

"You mean go boom, big time," said Buffy as she strode out with another crate balanced effortlessly on one hand.

"When are you going to unveil the plan to the others? I mean the non-Scoobies," Oz asked as he placed another crate of C-4 in the van. "Which will be interesting."

"When we get back and talk to the others," said Xander, flipping through the list of things to do in his head. A lot to do.

* * *

The thing about lock picking is that if you have the right tools it's rather easy. The sense of accomplishment when a lock yields to some gentle persuasion can be very satisfying. The fact that the first door that Lindsey tried turned out to be unlocked therefore made it a bit of an anticlimax.

The lawyer put his unused tools into a side pocket and slipped through the doors into the darkened corridor. In front of him he could see a large poster that read: "We Salute The Graduating Class Of '99!" in tacky silver lettering. He shrugged and looked down at the small plan of the school that he'd drawn, which was just visible in the light. Okay, it was this way…

Wolfram & Hart produced some good clothing for running around in the night, and what he was wearing was pretty much state of the art. It was dark but not black – just shades of grey and green that allowed him to merge with the shadows quite nicely. The shoes were a good touch as well – good enough to run in and also quiet enough to sneak away if need be.

He darted across the mouth of a corridor and moved on. This was one of the few options that he had. The Mayor's residence was a fortress, alive with guards, not all of whom were human-shaped. The chances of his being able to waltz in and then emerge alive were quite low. Therefore a quick reconnaissance of the spot where the Slayers hung out was a better bet. It was still insanely dangerous, but the odds of making it back were slightly higher. The Slayers were unlikely to bend him over an altar and remove his beating heart with a blunt spoon for a start.

As he passed the trophy case he paused and then looked back at it. He had the oddest feeling that he was being watched. He looked around and then shrugged. Imagination. Although it was odd, the eyes on one of the cheerleading statues seemed to follow him when he moved. It looked a bit tacky anyway. Plus there was definitely something wrong with the eyes – they looked mad. He shook his head and moved on.

When he saw the sign marked 'Library' he paused. He could see the doors quite clearly and a light was on in the room. It was very quiet though. He sneaked up to the window and carefully peered in. There was no one in sight, although someone had been there. The table was covered in books and there was a large blackboard that had been wiped next to it. There was also a large board that was covered in pictures and papers.

Lindsey put his ear to the door and listened carefully, holding his breath as he did. Nothing. Then he slipped in, moving on noiseless feet, quickly peering over the counter at the office that was off to one side. More nothing. Then he took a better look at the board with the papers. There were several pictures of Wilkins pinned to it and he grinned slightly. Then he saw the words and 'Old One?' and he swore softly. Jackpot. His hand slipped into his pocket and he pulled out a small camera, which he used to snap pictures of everything. Then he stopped and stared. A single word had caught his eye. 'Ascension?' was written in a large bold hand, below which was a number of sketches of a winged something chasing people dressed in old medieval clothing. This did not look good. Wilkins was not planning on calling on an Old One. He was planning to become one.

Lindsey jammed his camera back into a pocket and pulled out his cellphone. He was about to turn it on when something hard and cold was suddenly pressed against his neck. "See anything you like?" drawled a female voice that sounded like sex and chocolate combined.

"Thanks, but I've already shaved once today," he replied, his mind racing. Stupid. He'd been stupid. Should have checked the place out completely.

"Very cute," said the voice. "Drop the phone or I'll give you a shave that'll last the rest of your life."

He dropped the phone.

"Walk over there," said the voice as it gestured slightly with what he could now see was a sword. He sighed and complied. "Turn around. Slowly."

He turned and did his best not to wince. Faith Morgan was standing in front of him, with a sword in one hand and a dagger that looked insanely sharp in the other. Behind her she could see a red-haired girl and a blond, both of whom were holding small fireballs in the palm of their hands. Great. Wonderful. Could this get any worse?

There was a noise at the doors and suddenly they opened to reveal Rupert Giles. The Watcher was carrying a box with the words 'C-4' stenciled on the side and Lindsey's mouth went very dry. Yes, it certainly could get worse.

* * *

The Mayor beamed out his best smile at the collection of vampires in the room. They had been assembled by Tagget and were the best around. They might not have been blessed by many brain cells, but they could take orders and were mortally afraid of invoking his displeasure. Good. They'd do what they were told.

"The eclipse will take care of the sun," he said, stressing this part, "So you should have no trouble getting there. Now remember, you're there to herd, not to feed. If I see anyone with blood on their lips, well then they'll have to see me afterwards and I will not be a happy camper." Several vampires flinched uneasily at this. Right then, time to build them up.

"You've been chosen because you're the best. Once this comes out right then I'll be grateful. And I always remember who I'm grateful to, yes sir. Mr Tagget will give you all your assignments. He is to be obeyed implicitly." He looked at a number of blank faces. "What he says goes." The faces relaxed into understanding.

It was a good thing that he wouldn't need to rely on any of this rabble once he had Ascended. That would have just been just terrible. Then he looked over at Mr Tagget and nodded. The vampire hurried off on his little errand. He had a message to deliver.

* * *

Xander sensed a slightly raised sense of alarm coming from the library and picked up the pace a little, shifting the box of explosives onto his left shoulder so as to free up his right hand for his lightsabre. When he walked in through the doors his eyebrows rose. The others were gathered around a dark-haired man in his late '20s or early '30s, who was dressed in dark coloured clothing. Giles was holding a phone and a camera in his hands and was scowling at him.

"Who's this guy?"

"A spy," drawled Faith. "I was in the office when this guy slunk in and had a good look at the strategy board. He took some snaps and was about to call someone when I decided that it was time to put a kink in his shorts."

"I am not a spy," said the man. He sounded slightly Texan. He also seemed to be slightly nervous, although given the amount of high explosives in the room, this was understandable. "I have a card in my pocket. Inside my coat. Can I reach for it or will someone slice me in half if I move?"

"I'll reach for it," said Giles, "Who knows what you have there after all." He slipped a hand into the man's coat cautiously and then pulled out a business card that looked extremely expensive. When he looked at the name he stiffened and his face twisted with disgust. "Ah. A lawyer," he said with vast buckets of contempt dribbling off his words.

"Giles, I know that lawyers are bad, according to my dad at least, but I sense something else here," said Xander, looking at the Watcher with some bemusement.

Giles snorted. "You're bloody right." He showed the card to Wesley who also snorted with contempt, before passing it around to the others. "He's from Wolfram & Hart."

"Wolfie and who?" asked a puzzled Buffy. She stared at the card and gave it to Xander. 'Lindsey McDonald, Attorney At Law, Wolfram & Hart' it said.

"Wolfram & Hart, Buffy," said Wesley with a distinct edge to his voice, "Is a law firm that has acted for more evil people than you can imagine. It is, in itself, as thoroughly evil as it is possible to get. So why are you here? Working for Wilkins?"

McDonald's eyes widened. "No! He's not a client of ours. We have a legal agreement with him – we leave Sunnydale alone and he lets us know what's happening here."

"Did he tell you about the Ascension?" asked Giles, looking at the man coldly.

"No, he seems to have forgotten to inform us about that," said McDonald wryly. "One of our seers had a vision. She just had time to say 'Old One' and 'Sunnydale' before her head exploded. That's all that the firm knows."

"And so they sent you?" asked Faith in disbelieving tones, "One guy from a law firm?"

"It's… complicated," he said scowling. "You're sure that he's going to attempt an Ascension?"

"He obtained a set of the Books of Ascension and the Box of Gavrok. Plus we talked to the former deputy Mayor of Sunnydale, one Alan Finch, who was very helpful. I understand that he's in hiding in the Po Valley at the moment, under the protection of the elderly great-uncle of a very senior member of the Vatican who would be very hard to cross. So, yes, we're sure. Why, what can Wolfram & Hart do?"

"Ah… nothing. The legal agreement between the firm and Wilkins is very clear. Wolfram & Hart can't interfere here. The only reason I'm here is that I negotiated the agreement with him last year."

"You were here last year?" asked Oz quietly. He was studying him intently. "Wait a minute – you were at the Bronze during amateur night. You sang that song that the crowd loved."

"Seems a strange place for a lawyer to be," mused Giles thoughtfully. "However, as Wolfram & Hart can't get involved here, that doesn't change matters a great deal. I did wonder why they didn't have an office on the Hellmouth, I must admit. It did seem odd."

"Wilkins blocked them when he built the town," muttered McDonald. "He said at the time that it meant that he could control matters better. They didn't meddle, he sent them information, and it was a win-win situation."

"Until now," said Buffy. "Well, it just goes to show that even skanky evil law firms can get it wrong."

"Now that I know what's going on, I need to report in," McDonald said suddenly. "Once he turns into an Old One he's going to be very powerful and-"

"Thank you, but the day that we accept help from Wolfram & Hart will be the day that I saw my own foot off with a spoon," said Giles flatly. "It's never been a good idea to have anything at all to do with Wolfram & Hart."

"We've got a rapid response group in Granton that could help!"

"With what, machineguns?"

"Well, yes."

"That would not be helpful in a square full of teenagers, which is where he'll be when he changes. No Mr McDonald, we have our own plan to deal with Mayor Wilkins permanently." He paused. "We do however need people on the ground. And we need to keep an eye on you. Can you use a sword?"

"What?"

"A sword. Long metal thing, the pointy end of which goes into your opponent."

"Yes, I can use a sword."

"Well, wonders will never cease. Very well. Contact your… organization and tell them what you know. And then you and I are going to have a little chat."

* * *

Holland Manners stared out of the window as he sipped his glass of single malt whiskey. He needed a break from the desk and the pile of paperwork that had been threatening to drown him in red ink. All told the pile could be summarised in one word: nothing. No signs and portents, no prophecies, no dire warnings and no torrents of blood coming from the faucets. Nothing about an Old One that could have sparked any questions. This was either reassuring or troubling, depending on the way that you looked at it. It might be that the threat was either non-existent – summoning an Old One was a very risky business – or that it would be squashed in time. A more pessimistic view was that something – or someone – was suppressing any signs and portents from manifesting themselves. Given what had happened to the seer, this was more along his line of thinking. Besides, moving up the greasy pole of promotion at Wolfram & Hart tended to depend on how paranoid you were, given the level of competition at the firm, and he had a feeling that this was a case where paranoia was both vitally important and necessary.

His phone rang at that point and he wearily turned back to his desk. If that was one of the Senior Partners then he felt another headache coming on. They had a bad habit of talking in booming evil voices over the phone. It was such a cliché.

However, as he looked at the caller display he blinked and grabbed for the receiver. "Lindsey. Good of you to call. Any news?"

"Yes sir," said McDonald. He sounded a bit odd, almost subdued. "I've discovered that Mayor Richard Wilkins is planning an Ascension tomorrow in Sunnydale. Apparently he intends to turn himself into a 60-foot long demon snake at the local High School graduation ceremony."

The headache became a reality. Damn. One of those. Still, that showed a lot of ambition on Richard's part. It was going to be messy as hell, but if you had to aim high when becoming a demon, then an Old One was the jackpot.

Massaging the bridge of his nose with one hand he sighed. "How good is this information."

"Excellent sir. The former deputy Mayor of Sunnydale left quite a confession before the Vatican picked him up and hid him somewhere in Italy."

Holland frowned. "How did you get your hands on this information?"

"I'm sitting in Sunnydale High's library, sir."

He sat up straight in his chair with a jolt. "With the Slayers?"

"Yes sir. They're remarkably paranoid about leaving important information around."

"Be nice now," said a strange female voice not too far away from Lindsey.

"I can't say too much but they're… making plans to deal with the Mayor. In a very permanent way."

"I see." Holland paused. "Are they holding you prisoner?"

"Not quite sir. Let's just say that I'm a guest until the Mayor is dealt with."

"And after that?"

"I've been told I can leave. Very quickly, that's one thing they stressed."

If they survived an Ascension that is, thought Holland. Well, well. How interesting. The chances were that even if they did deal with Wilkins, then they might suffer some collateral damage of their own. Maybe even lose one of the Slayers along the way, which would cheer up the Senior Partners a lot.

"This might mean fighting with them sir. I mean alongside them."

This prompted a thoughtful pause. Stopping the ascension of Wilkins was important. It was just a shame that the Slayers would get all the credit for it. But to have Lindsey there at the death would be a big feather in Holland's cap, as it would show that he was on top of the matter. True, there was a good chance that Lindsey might get killed, probably eaten if Wilkins achieved his demon state, but that was one of those risks that the firm would just have to take. Lindsey might have been handpicked by Holland, but the firm was big enough to take his loss. The firm was big enough to take anyone's loss. It was also a shame that Lindsey wasn't high enough up the pecking order to be brought back from death to serve Wolfram & Hart. If he made it back alive then he really should look for a promotion for the man. That would get the eternal service clause on his contract and his soul would be weighed, stamped and sold to the highest bidder when it came to his death.

" Go ahead, Lindsey. You have permission to take part. Stop Wilkins at all costs. If he breaks out of town the rapid reaction force will join the action from Granton."

"Yes sir. Goodbye."

"Goodbye Lindsey. Good luck."

The phone went dead and Holland replaced the receiver on the cradle. He was thinking hard. Then he picked up the phone again and dialed swiftly. "Sally, tell the administrative staff that Lindsey McDonald's office might be going spare after tomorrow. He's on a particularly difficult assignment and it's possible it might be a permanent one."

The phone went down again and he stood up to walk back to the window. Things were looking up, he thought as he sipped the whiskey. Office space was at a premium at the moment.

* * *

"Thanks, boss, but try and sound more sincere," said Lindsey bitterly as he stared at his cellphone. Then he looked around again. The vampire with a soul – Angel – was helping the musician stack some of the boxes of explosives around the stairs that led to the book stacks. They were being supervised by the older Watcher, who had a disturbingly good idea about how to deploy them, and he made a note to have a good look at Rupert Giles's file. He'd bet money that it was interesting.

What was even more interesting was the presence of Alexander Harris. It was odd seeing him in person, and for the first time Lindsey realized why Wilkins had told him about him. He was very good, organized, efficient and seeming to almost anticipate questions. He also seemed to be very un-teenager, rather older than he seemed to be. It was odd. Plus he had an odd device hanging from his belt that looked familiar somehow. The musician had one as well. They rang a faint bell in his mind, but he couldn't work out why. Ah well. He had more important things to worry about. Like this Giles guy, who had suddenly broken off to appear in front of him.

"A word," said the Watcher, and they walked into the office.

"I know a great deal about Wolfram & Hart," said the Brit as he leant against his desk, "As my grandfather served with Khaki Roberts at Nuremberg, one of the British prosecution lawyers in 1947. He found out that some of the Nazis on trial had requested legal aid from your firm. Specifically Goering and Kaltenbrunner. What a surprise."

"I didn't know that," protested Lindsey, feeling baffled and horrified at the same time.

"No, it wasn't Wolfram & Hart's finest hour so to speak. They did send a team to Germany. Just outside Hamburg it had a little accident, shall we say, involving the car they were driving in, a three-tonne lorry full of PIAT ammunition and a Sherman Firefly tank. Very little could be found to be buried. It was something that my grandfather was remarkably proud of."

Lindsey felt something very cold run down his spine and he suppressed the need to swallow nervously. "Your point being?"

"If you betray us – if we kill the mayor and turn around to discover that you've done something evil – your family will have to make sure that it's a closed casket funeral for you. I trust that I make myself clear?"

"Perfectly."

"Good. Where are my manners? A cup of tea?"

"Do you have anything stronger?"

"Ah. Yes." He walked over to a cabinet and pulled out a rather dusty hip flask. "Twenty year old single malt. Don't gulp it for heaven's sake, it deserves better than that."

* * *

He stared up at the stars as he stood on the roof. It might be – in one way or another – the last time that he ever saw those stars from this spot. Different patterns, different stars and the great dim shape of the Milky Way visible as the Solar System hurtled its way around on its spiral arm. All of a sudden he thought of looking up at the stars that night on Tatooine, when Qui-Gon and Padme were off looking for those hyperspace engine parts. The stars had been very clear that night as well as Ob-Wan Kenobi had waited for them to get back. That night that was so clear in his memories. He paused. He had company.

"Hey, Buff, Giles," he said over his shoulder at the Slayer and her Watcher as they approached.

"Hey you," said Buffy quietly as she sat next to him and looked up at the sky. "I thought that I'd find you here. Brought Giles along."

"Yes, well, I did want to have quiet word with… good lord I, um, I didn't know that this place was here. What a spectacular view. Both of Sunnydale and the stars."

"I prefer the stars sometimes," said Xander as he looked up. "Makes me wonder about what's out there. I wonder if there's something with too many eyes and legs sitting in a pool somewhere looking up and wondering the same thing. Maybe on a planet around one of those yellow specks of light. Anywhere."

Giles settled down to sit on the other side of Xander from Buffy and the trio looked up at the heavens in a companionable silence as they sat in the very dim light of a billion points of fire.

After a while Xander broke the silence. "The Force is with us. We can do this thing."

* * *

Sleeping in a rapid response van when loaded for bear was never an easy thing, but from the sounds behind him Killern could tell that most of the squad were sacked out. Freaking typical. They slept, which meant that even if he hadn't been on sentry duty he couldn't. They sounded like a pack of bears was loose back there. A snoring pack of bears. He sighed and looked out into the night. He hated the 3am portion of sentry duty. Come to think of it he hated out of town sentry duty. And when he came to think about it, sentry duty itself just sucked. It was so dull. But at least Wolfram & Hart paid triple overtime for this kind of assignment. That would come in handy. Certainly made up for being sent to dump like Granton and told to wait for a possible signal from one of the pencil pushers, even if the lawyer in person was one of Mr Manners' people.

Then he stiffened. Something had moved out there. He stared harder but he couldn't see anything. That was odd. Something had been out there, he was sure about it. Turning he nudged T'shabe. The massive South African had been snoring in the driving seat but he came awake in an instant, looking around quickly before he turned to Killern and raised his eyebrows.

"I thought I saw something out there."

T'shabe's eyes flickered briefly and then he nodded sharply and reached back to click his fingers loudly towards the rear of the van. In an instant the snoring stopped and the distant hum of extreme violence being restrained by cobwebs of patience broke out. "Check it out," muttered the South African.

Killern knew better than to sigh, so he simply chambered a round into his automatic, made sure that the safety was off and opened the window, being very careful not to let the gun be seen to anyone outside. Then he looked around. Nothing.

"I can't see anything, but… wait a second. Can you hear that?"

"What?"

"That leathery noise… it's like…" He turned his head a bit further and then caught sight of something. It was very bulky and had a lot of teeth. It seemed to be grinning at him. Its grin grew a bit, revealing a lot more teeth. "Oh shit."

* * *

As dawn broke Xander's eyes opened and he stared at the ceiling. The house seemed very quiet at the moment, with his parents away and his Uncle Rory visiting Will. Very quiet indeed and he lay there in bed for a long moment. He had the oddest feeling that his life was about to change in one defining moment. He was going to graduate today. True, the Mayor was going to turn into a sixty-foot snake as well, but with that little detail aside he knew that something profound was going to happen. He had to decide what to do afterwards.

He had been thinking quietly about this for some time. His grades were good enough – more than good enough – to be accepted into UCS on a scholarship, but he wasn't sure if that was the road that he wanted to go down just yet, if at all. There were bigger issues at stake now, issues like what he had to do to protect the Hellmouth with Buffy, Faith and the others. He and Oz were the only Force users that he knew of at the moment, but that didn't mean that there weren't others out there, ignorant of their potential. What to do about them? There was the issue of the second Padawan that The Host had seen, the one who was going to be part of the way down the Dark Side before their training even started but who might just make it. Where were they? Who were they? What had happened to he or she to make them so dark?

Sitting up in bed he sighed quietly and then got up to pace across the room to grab a towel and head for the shower. No point wondering bout that just yet. They had an Ascension to deal with. He paused. One thing else about today – he would never have to deal with Snyder again after it. Smiling he walked on.

* * *

The seats were hard, but Buffy, Xander and Oz sat on them and stared at the podium. On one side was the faculty and on the other was Wilkins, who was quietly talking to Snyder.

After a moment Willow joined them. "We're good," she said quietly, "Giles said to say that everything's set up."

Buffy nodded absently and then frowned. "What happened to all the books by the way? The last time I went into the library all the shelves were empty. When did Giles get the time to move them all?"

"I'm not sure, but I saw him talking to two odd people earlier on today. One was a guy in a dress with a hat that said 'Wizzard' and the other one looked like an Orangutan but felt far too intelligent for an ape. He said that that they were old friends of his, but I've never seen them before. Anyway, the books are safe," said Xander. Then he stiffened. "Here we go, guys."

There was a scuffling noise and then Snyder walked up to the podium and glowered at the assembled students "Congratulations to the class of 1999. You all proved more or less adequate. This is a time of celebration, so: sit still and be quiet." The glower intensified briefly as he spotted a pair of gently ruminating jaws. "Spit out that gum. Yes, you. Please welcome our distinguished guest speaker: Richard Wilkins the 3rd." He paused again and pointed at someone behind Xander. "I saw that gesture. You see me after graduation." He turned and clapped as Wilkins stood up and moved forwards to general applause.

The Mayor shook Snyder's hand and stepped up to the podium, where he beamed out over everyone and deftly slipped some cue cards from his pocket. Then he put both hands on the lectern and allowed his gaze to sweep the audience.

"Well. What a day this is! - Special day. Today is our centennial, the one hundredth anniversary of the founding of Sunnydale, and I know what that means to all you kids: not - a darn thing. Because today something much more important happens: today you all graduate from high school. Today all the pain, all the work, all the excitement is finally over. And what's a hundred years of history compared to that?" He smiled but there was something flickering in his eyes, something dark and cynical that spoke of pain and effort and the strain of juggling so many issues. Then it was gone and he was looking out over everyone with the clear gaze of a politician who knows how to tell it how it is.

"And indeed by being here, by making it to this moment of graduation for all of you it may be that there is a place in Sunnydale's history, whether you like it or not. It's been a long road getting here. For you and for Sunnydale. There has been achievement, joy, good times - and there has been grief."

" He should know," said Xander in a grim but level voice, "Given the number of people who have died in this place."

"There's been loss. Some people who should be here today aren't. But we are here, at a journey's end. And what is a journey? Is it just - distance traveled? Time spent?" He shook his head. "No. It's what happens on the way, it's the things that happen to you, the things that mould you. At the end of the journey you're not the same. Today is about change. Graduation doesn't just mean your circumstances change, it means you do. You ascend to a higher level. You move on, because that's what life is all about. Nothing will ever be the same."

The light seemed to change slightly and then Xander looked up. Clouds were gathering above the school and something black was starting to slide across the face of the sun. "Showtime," he whispered grimly.

"Nothing…" Wilkins looked up at the darkening sky. He seemed a little startled, but then looked back at the crowd. Some were looking at the disappearing sun and muttering quietly but others were looking straight at him, including Buffy and the others. Xander's hand went under his robes to grasp his lightsabre.

Something seemed to pass over Wilkins' face at that point and the Mayor flinched in pain for a split second. Then he swallowed and continued: "And so as we look back on-" another wave of darkness passed over his face again and he groaned softly as he flinched on the podium. Snyder was openly staring at him now, shifting in his seat obviously torn between asking what was wrong and fear at interrupting.

Wilkins rallied again. "On the events that brought us to this place and this day-"

Buffy pulled her hat off and looked at Xander, who nodded grimly. "Is this the point where we ask the Force to be with us?"

"It wouldn't hurt," said the Jedi Knight, leaning forwards and nodding to Jonathan and Anya. Jonathan did his best to nod back in a nonchalant manner whilst Anya looked terrified but resolute. She had either suddenly developed a hump or her battleaxe was starting to show.

Something was really wrong with the Mayor by now as his hands clenched and unclenched spasmodically on the lectern. "We-" he stopped again, shaking with the effort of remaining upright at the podium. Then he tried again. "We must all-" A stifled scream forced its way out of his mouth as the various members of the faculty looked at each other uneasily.

Then he drew himself up, a strange and terrible smile playing around his face. "It has begun. My destiny. It's a little sooner then I expected, I mean I had this whole section on civic pride that would have made a corpse sit up and salute but what the hell, screw that." He threw the cue cards over his shoulder, a gesture that seemed to appall Snyder. "I guess we'll just skip to the big finish!"

Wilkins shuddered again, his face going slack and suddenly, terribly, it started to change, the colour bleeding away to white and then to grey, the skin starting to mottle and alter. His groaning was becoming louder and hoarser and as it did Xander shouted: "Now!"

The students had been tense and now they acted almost as one. Caps flew off, gowns were tossed aside and weapons were revealed, crossbows, swords, maces, battleaxes, flamethrowers and, almost pathetically, pump-action water pistols.

"Group one with me!" shouted Xander and there was a convulsive heave as the students around him took up their positions, including Amy and Giles, who had joined them as the faculty scattered in panic.

"Group two here!" yelled Oz, calling his people around him as the other group moved towards him, whilst Willow closed her eyes and concentrated on forming a fireball.

A noise came from the podium, a noise that sounded like a thousand wolves howling at once as the thing that had once been Richard Wilkins swayed in place, growing, changing, morphing into something inhuman. And then, in response, a tall figure appeared out of the shadows next to the entrance, cracking his knuckles despite the short sword that hung at his side. Boots thudded and then he was joined by other figures, with yellow eyes and bony ridges visible on their foreheads.

"I'm impressed, Harris, Summers, you got them organized! But we have the exits covered and you're going to end up dead," called the vampire called Tagget, who Finch had sketched so accurately.

"No, ah, somehow I don't think so," said another voice behind Tagget, and the former marine spun around to stare behind him at the vampire with a soul as he stood with Wesley, Faith, McDonald and a crowd of former students, all armed with swords, stakes and other weapons.

Risking a look over his shoulder at Wilkins, who was entering the last stages of his transformation as he started to lengthen into his full last, vast form, Xander shouted: "Jonathan! Anya! Punch a hole!"

The former would-be suicide candidate pumped hard on his water pistol and then shot a stream of water at the vampires in front of him. Screams erupted along with steam as it hit, revealing it to be holy water. Tagget wasn't there to see it hit though – he had flung himself away at the last minute. The other squad also moved their holy water pistol deployers into place, scattering and confusing the remaining vampires before Angel led his lot into the fight, his sword flashing as he decapitated one vampire and hacked the hand off another. To his side Faith was a whirlwind of action as she cut a swath through the crowd, with Wesley using his battleaxe with an awkward energy.

Xander's lightsabre flew into his hand and he ignited it as he span back to stare at the podium, where a great grey shape was now rearing its head and looking around with utterly inhuman eyes. "Ok, time to dance."

* * *

Transforming from a human to a demon is not an easy process. It requires a huge amount of magic as well as various energies and proteins that just cannot be found in your local supermarket. Which was the whole point of the contents of the Box of Gavrok. But even that the process requires a large amount of further metabolic processes, the upshot of which is that the human body – even prepared beforehand – is barely able to act as a conduit to the end of that process.

As Wilkins' body changed, with organs altering, merging with others and growing whilst yet other odder organs appeared out of nowhere, other changes happened. Strange urges flared in what now passed for his brain, emotions and feelings that he had never had before. Somewhere in his mind the atrophied remains of his humanity screamed in terror and scrabbled at the bars of the cage that surrounded it before it was finally swept away. There were feelings of loss about a time that he could not comprehend, and a hunger for blood. A deep hunger, something that transcended everything that had been there before it, something that hardwired his brain into action. Blood. He needed blood and he needed it now. Then something small and white and weightless hit his snout and he blinked. Something was standing to one side. It seemed very annoyed at him. After a second he strained to remember the name. Snyder. Oh yes, that was it. Snyder was shouting something about this kind of thing being unacceptable in his school, that it was too messy. How odd. Hang on, he owed him something, what was it now? He couldn't remember exactly and gave a mental shrug. Oh well, he might as well give him a quick death. He leant over and engulfed the wretched little man in his mouth and chewed briefly. Yuck, tasted like chicken. Stringy chicken.

Then something sharp flashed out and cut a long furrow on one nostril and he bellowed in outrage as he tried to focus. Oh. Yes the Slayer. She was standing there with a sword in one hand and a throwing knife in the other. Silly girl, did she really think that she could harm him with that? But she did pose a threat. He could see the magic that was in her now, the internal power that she probably didn't even suspect was there, in her blood and in her mind. Great potential there that had barely been tapped into. He had to make sure that she never threatened him again. She had to die.

Then he blinked. She was holding up the sword. "See this? That's what I was holding when your flunkey Trick got it. That's what I was holding the night I found the Wraith you created. That's what I was holding when we got rid of your Karren Gem spell. You want revenge, you're going to have to kill me. And I'm not easy to kill. But I'm going to see you put out of this place. You made it but Sunnydale belongs to us now!"

Something exploded in his mind, an anger so all-encompassing that it caught him up in a frenzy. He shook with anger and screamed defiance at the Slayer. She was going to die, for all the plans that she'd thwarted, all the things that she'd done to get in his way. She was going to die and he was going to suck the blood from her broken body and claim her magic for his own. She would be the perfect start to his existence as an Old One. He lunged for her, but she dodged away and darted to one side. Hissing he followed her, along one side of the colonnade and into the school. She was fast but he was going to catch her. And eat her.

* * *

The vampire in front of him gaped at the lightsabre and then blinked before its head rolled off, its body flashing into dust as it did and Xander looked around. His group had penned the vampires into a corner and were winning, although they were taking hits as they did so, several were down and one blonde girl – Harmony? – was unmoving. He frowned and the lightsabre flashed out once to get a dark-haired female vampire that had been trying to crawl her way out of there.

A flash of grey scaly skin caught his eye and he looked to see the Mayor as he lunged after Buffy. Right. Time to move. "Jonathan!" he roared, and saw the shorter man move his way, his axe still wet with Holy Water. Anya was busy belabouring a much larger vampire, screaming something about bunnies as she did so. Weird. Then he turned to Jonathan. "Take over, Oz and I are going in."

Jonathan nodded quickly and then tossed another balloon filled with holy water into the face of a tall white haired vampire which screamed in pain before Larry and Percy double-teamed it and staked it.

Xander grinned, shut his lightsabre off and ran, gesturing to Ox as he did so. The other Jedi caught two vampires in the neck, before passing command of his team to Giles and joined Xander as they ran towards the staircase. They didn't have much time but they could-

It happened so suddenly that they both paused at the same time and exchanged shocked glances before looking back into the melee by the entrance. No way. No freaking way was someone using the Force there.

* * *

Tagget hefted his emergency short sword and swore. Things were going to hell in a hand basket. The Slayers had arranged things well. Too well. Students armed with holy water, axes, swords, even at least one flamethrower. Plus that abomination with a soul, a pair of Watchers and some others. They had a fight on their hands. Still, the boss had been able to ascend, and he looked terrifying as hell. As long as he remembered people like Tagget he didn't mind what he freaking looked like. And it had been a while since he had a fight that he really enjoyed.

"Move!" he shouted as a vampire with a bad cut over one eye went sprawling past him. Then he turned to look at what was going on and grinned. Oh yeah. The other Slayer was there. He adjusted his grasp on his sword and leapt at her. He was going to enjoy this.

* * *

One vampire went down with a neck slash that sent its head off to one side and then another was taken out with a stake to the heart. Faith was enjoying herself now and she slashed at a passing vampire, only to curse as it swerved at the last moment and only got a cut on its forehead before it went staggering on. Then she blinked as someone shouted a challenge and her sword only just came up in time for her to parry a blow. A tall vampire – Tagget, Wilkins' right hand fang man – was standing there with a cool sword in his hand.

"Always wanted to kill a Slayer," he said, his fangs gleaming, "And after all, I've got the training for it. Special Ops, kid. You're gonna die."

"Yeah?" she said and pulled back. "Well Special Ops won't cut it against someone who spars with a Jedi, so bye-bye creep." She darted a quick slash at his face, which he parried with a smirk that turned into a faint frown and then a grimace of concentration as she followed it up with a string of attacks, her sword flashing as she beat him back. "Game over." Her sword flashed out, severing his sword hand and sending it whirling away before she took his head off before his face had even had time to register pain. "Special Ops? Loser."

* * *

Something came out of nowhere and hit Lindsey on the side of his head in a blow that sent him to his knees with a cry of pain just after he had hacked a vampires' head off. What the hell had that been? Then he realized that he had lost hold of his sword and he looked around wildly, clutching at the point where he had been hit with one hand whilst he scrabbled around with the other. Damn it, where was it? It had to be around here somewhere and what the hell had hit him?

Then he froze. A vampire had been staggering around and now it saw him. One side of its face had been hit by a blast of holy water and was a smoking mess while its remaining eye looked both enraged and terrified. As it saw him it suddenly grinned. "Feed…" it croaked and staggered towards him.

Crap, crap, crap this was bad he thought and looked around wildly. There his sword was, just beyond his reach and he stretched out his hand towards it. He felt wobbly and sick and his balance seemed to be out. Just out of reach… a bit further…

"Feed!" screamed the vampire as it loomed over him and Lindsey's hand flailed desperately out again and then, suddenly, his sword seemed to thump into his hand he struck out. The vampire stopped, gurgled and then its head fell off, turning to dust with the rest of it as it did so. Lindsey stopped to sigh and then slowly staggered to his feet. It looked as if things were under control. Then he looked at his sword. It had almost felt as if it had flown into his hand. He must be concussed or something.

* * *

Xander and Oz stared at the swaying figure of the lawyer in disbelief and then looked at each other. "Well that's the Force for you," said Xander and then looked back at the main body of the school. "That's something to worry about for later, now we need to catch up with Buffy and out unfriendly guest. Let's go!"

They went, accelerating as they did. They had some time to make up. They had to get the timing right, too much rested on this. The two Jedi almost flew down the corridors of the high school.

* * *

The walls of the corridor flashed past, so fast that the posters and the notice boards were little more than a blur as she darted past them. Down one, along another, turning on the point of a heel and keeping on, trying to stay ahead, keeping an ear out for the dreadful slithering hiss behind her that came with an accompaniment of roars and crashes as her far larger pursuer bounced off the walls and lockers as he – or was it 'it' now? – followed, roaring occasionally. It didn't sound as if speech was something that had made the change over very well, because there was nothing human in the dreadful noises that were coming out of that massive fanged mouth. Whatever Wilkins was now, he had one aim in life – to catch her and try to eat her.

Buffy had no intention of ending up as the demon version of a Twinkie. She kept running, the clock ticking down in her head. When it reached a certain point she headed for the library, accelerating slightly as she did to open up a bit more of a gap. The mayor had an appointment that he had to keep.

* * *

"She's coming!" Xander could feel the two approaching forces, the strong vibrancy in the Force that was a Slayer and the dark mass of irredeemable evil that was the thing that had once been Wilkins. The thing that had to be destroyed. "Get ready," he said quietly to Oz. They were standing on either side of the library doors, their inactive lightsabres in their hands.

And then the doors flew open and Buffy flew through them, running so fast that she was almost a blur. She swerved off to one side, a boot hit the chair that had been wedged by the table and then she was airbourne, converting her impetus into a jump that turned into a tight somersault that sent her flying backwards.

She was just in time because then the massive form of the demon snake followed her through the entrance as it bellowed in triumph at its success in cornering the Slayer.

"Now!" shouted Xander as the Mayor's head passed him and then he and Oz ignited the lightsabres that they were both holding out in front of them. The blue and green blades hissed out, extending deep into passing body of the demon, slicing straight through the mottled grey skin and plunging deep into the rippling muscles and other body parts beneath.

* * *

There are a number of advantages and disadvantages to being a 60-foot long giant snake demon. On the one hand you stand at the top of the food chain, with the only thing that might give you trouble, in the form of a Tyrannosaurus Rex, having died out 65 million years ago. The massive teeth and the magical abilities that would grow with time were also a plus.

On the other hand there was the loss of arms, which was a bit awkward, and the fact that those teeth would be very hard to keep clean. There was also the problem of mass. A 60-foot giant snake demon cannot stop on a penny, especially if it has been moving very quickly. It requires time. And muscles that have not just been sliced open by a pair of lightsabres.

* * *

Pain. That was what was on the Mayor's mind as he realised that something was wrong. Terrible, overpowering pain as two shards of fire stabbed deep into his sides, cutting through muscle and sinew, severing or nicking organs that he was only just getting to realise were there, slicing through nerve endings that had functions that he barely understood. Pain. It filled his brain, made him want to scream, to bellow, to wail for it to stop. This was worse than Ascension, worse than all the other rituals and ceremonies that he had undergone through his century of waiting and preparing. Pain.

The shards of fire suddenly vanished but the pain was still there and he tried to stop, to turn to see what had happened, what had dared to attack him in his glorious and powerful state, but then he realised to his horror that he couldn't stop, that his impetus was carrying him forwards and that it hurt to move, hurt to stop, hurt despite everything. Pain. He slammed into the table, which splintered as if it was made of matchwood, and then slid on to smash into the half-wall that led to the empty bookshelves. His tail flew past his face and he screamed again as the torn and broken muscles shifted against each other before he finally came to a shuddering twitching halt.

Groggily he looked around and there was the Summers girl, looking back at him as she her two companions ran out of the door. The two newcomers were holding lightsabres. Harris. He should have dealt with the Jedi first. And the Osbourne kid as well. Well, perhaps – he tried to move and the pain hit him again, fiery and insistent. He looked down at his side and saw to his horror that he had been sliced open like a fish on a slab. Strange fluids were leaking out although there was no blood.

Desperate he looked around at the room and them he saw the explosives stacked carefully all around the room, some of it clearly C-4. It looked quite impressive. And there was a timer attached to one box, with the red digits vanishing fast as it ticked away the last seconds before detonation.

"Well gosh," he said disgustedly, "You think that you've got it figured out and then they get sneaky on you."

The timer reached zero and the world went very bright and then very dark.

* * *

"Faster!" yelled Xander and he ran down the corridor with Buffy and Oz, "Speed needed now!" Five seconds, he thought grimly, four seconds, three seconds… he could see the doors to the non-exploding outside ahead of them and he used the Force to wrench them open as he ran. Two seconds, one, and…. now.

Behind them he heard the explosion start, a deep 'whomph' noise that shook the corridor and sent ceiling tiles falling around them, which he diverted away from their path. He didn't look back because he knew what was following them, the deep yellow and red flames of the explosion that would cook them if they didn't stay in front of it.

"Faster!" he said and then used the force to send Buffy through the door first with a startled eeping noise before he and Oz followed her, bursting out into the open air and jinking to one side of the entrance as the flames vomited out. He leapt over a hedge and hit the dirt, his arms over his head as bits of fiery debris fell all over the place and the air briefly seemed to sear the hair on his hands. Then it seemed to die down and he cautiously looked around. Oz was in a similar position to one side and was also looking around, while Buffy peeked around from behind a water fountain. When she saw the two Jedi she stopped panting for just long enough to sigh with relief.

He relaxed for what felt the first time all day. Then he paused. Their part of the fight was over. What about the others? Grabbing his lightsabre from his belt he got up quickly, helping Oz up at the same time. "Come on, we need to make sure that it wasn't all for nothing."

* * *

The vampires were breaking now, some having had enough, others afraid of the vast amounts of holy water that they were able to deploy and many of the remainders being scared of the fiery debris that was starting to fall from the burning building. Giles sighed. He and Jonathan had led their forces in a crushing pincer movement against the vampires that had pushed them back against Angel's group. It had been not without its cost however. A number of students were down, but very few were dead. Instead there seemed to be a few broken bones and a number of cases of blood loss.

As the last vampire ran off towards the exit Giles ordered everyone to get out of the courtyard. With the main part of the building now firmly on fire the place was no longer safe. And given the absence of inhuman bellows from the interior, the Mayor had been defeated. He just hoped that Buffy, Xander and Oz had survived.

"We need to get going," he muttered to an anxious-looking Angel. "Get everyone moving." He paused, noticing a long livid mark that ran across the vampire with a soul's hand. "What happened to you?"

"Some of the holy water flew a bit further than it should have." He shrugged. "It'll heal. The water did the job, that's the important thing. Any sign of Buffy?"

"None, but let's get everyone out of here before we start to worry about that."

He turned and looked around. What a bloody mess. Still, the plan had worked. He hoped. The Watcher heard the distant sound of police and fire sirens and grimaced slightly. This was going to be fun to explain. Then he hefted his sword thoughtfully. They had to arrange to hide all of the weapons as well.

"Are you alright Willow?" he asked as the red-haired witch walked past him looking around somewhat desperately. She jumped slightly, an odd gesture for someone who had been conjuring fireballs to use against vampires earlier.

"Is it all over? Where's Oz? And Buffy and Xander?"

"It's over but I haven't seen-" the Watcher caught sight of something out of the corner of his eye and turned his head, before letting out a sigh of relief that echoed up from the bottom of his heart. To one side he saw Buffy, Xander and Oz appear through the smoke. They looked somewhat begrimed and looked as if they had run a marathon, but they were alive and apparently uninjured. It looked as if things were going to be all right.

* * *

Xander looked at the people walking out of the building with relief and then started to look around for specific people. Giles was walking towards them, flanked by Wesley, Amyand Cordelia. Jonathan was sitting on the verge clutching his weapons and having a slight scratch on his forehead fussed over by Anya. Willow had become a guided redheaded missile that had sought out Oz, Faith was grinning lazily at them all as she sharpened her knife and even Angel was smiling quietly, before looking up at the sky nervously. The clouds were still there but the setting sun was threatening to break out from behind the clouds. Oh yes, and McDonald was sitting on a low wall, clutching a rough bandage to a head wound and with the sword that Giles had given him resting on his knees. He looked tired and shocked and glad to be alive.

Catching sight of the lawyer from the evil law firm brought Xander up slightly and Giles frowned at him slightly. "I trust that you were successful?"

"Oh yeah," said Buffy in a tired yet bright voice, "Big check on the 'toasted snaky Mayor' box. We came, we saw, we blew it to pieces in the library. Oops, sorry Giles. I know how much you liked that place."

"I think that the phrase 'the greater good' covers that nicely, Buffy. I'm just glad to see you all in one piece. We were quite successful here, despite the fact that two of the students, apparently called Andrew and Warren, fainted at the sight of your lightsabres. As for everyone else we took remarkably few casualties." He looked at Xander keenly. "I do take it that everything is alright?"

Xander and Oz looked at each other. "We might have a slight problem with the guy from Wolfram & Hart. In the middle of the battle he was down and disarmed but got his sword back. With the Force."

Giles swore under his breath. "Typical. One crisis goes past and another comes up. I'm starting to understand how Sisyphus felt."

"Sissy who?" asked Buffy as they walked away from the burning building. The first fire engines were starting to arrive now, along with the police cars and ambulances and it was becoming hard to talk over the noise.

"Sisyphus. He was condemned to roll a boulder to the top of a hill in the Greek underworld every day, only to repeat the process over and over again." He sighed. "We have wounded to take care of and weapons to dispose of. Even Sunnydale's Police Force will be suspicious otherwise. One thing at a time."

As they split up to walk over to the various students, many of whom were trying to roll their graduation robes around swords and axes, Xander saw Oz and Willow pause to sit next to one wounded girl who had a long cut on her arm and gently tend to her injuries. Oz's healing abilities were good, but he would have to be careful there and just make the injury not as bad as it looked.

Then Xander looked up. Angel was standing off to one side, looking at Buffy as she walked through the crowd, helping people here and there. "Hey," he said to the sad-faced vampire with a soul. "You ok?"

"Yeah." Angel looked at him, his eyes far away for a moment. "She's come a long way, hasn't she?"

"Yes, she has. A long road and much done on that journey." Xander sighed and adjusted his lightsabre before looking up. "So have you, I think. You've been fighting with us for a long time now. When I remember the old days, you used to turn up, deliver cryptic warnings and then vanish. Not any more."

A brief smile flashed over Angel's face. "I could say the same about you, Xander. A Jedi Knight on the Hellmouth. Sounds fantastic, I know, but you have been given something special. You've changed most of all, but the main part of you, the need to help Buffy and Giles and Willow, that hasn't changed. You're the base for them, you anchor them. And you see things that they don't."

He looked away uncomfortably, his eyes jerking in Buffy's direction for a second. "I'm going," he muttered. "Tonight. She's safe, Wilkins has been defeated and… I need to go."

Xander sighed and nodded sadly. "I understand. Where will you go to?"

He got a shrug in response. "Maybe LA. I remembered what you said about the place, that it had patches of darkness in it. Maybe I can shed a little light on some of those patches."

Reaching into his pocket the Jedi Knight pulled out a piece of paper. "I thought that you might say that. Here. It's the address and telephone number of a friend of mine. His name's Doyle. Half Brachen demon, half human, all friend. He know a lot of people over there. Some are, well, a bit shady as Giles would put it, but he fights for the side of light."

Taking the paper Angel looked down at it and then nodded slowly. "Thanks," he said quietly, placing it in his pocket. There was an awkward pause and then Angel put his hand out hesitantly. "Thank you," he said.

"Any time," replied the Jedi as they shook hands.

Angel looked over at Buffy for one last time and as he did she looked up from tending to an injured student and froze in place. Something complicated passed between them in the air, something profoundly sad and filled with yearning and a sense of loss that Xander could feel hanging in the air. He stepped back a few paces and left the vampire with a soul alone for a moment, locked in that gaze with Buffy. When the Jedi looked up again from his careful inspection of a piece of grass growing in a crack in the tarmac, Angel was gone.

Xander sighed again and then looked over at the burning school. The firemen had it under control now, but it lit up the darkening sky. Then he looked over at McDonald. He had a great deal of thinking to do and some hard decisions to make. Giles was right – life here never really ran out of tasks, even for a Jedi.


	27. Looking At The Horizon

This chapter is horribly late, and I apologise massively. This was caused by life and the worst case of writer's block I've ever had. An amazing trip to Italy with my girlfriend also occurred, and frankly if you ever see the Forum Romanum in the early morning light you start to get goosebumps. Started a few plot bunnies as well. Enjoy!

* * *

The real estate agent was, to use a word, perky. Everything about her spoke of a deep underlying perkiness, from her carefully bobbed hair to her fashionably sensible shoes. Lindsay looked at her and for a moment wished that they could swap jobs. Trying to push property on the Hellmouth had to be better than working for Wolfram & Hart, right? He sighed quietly while the woman babbled gently but professionally about the location, the potential and the price, before he raised a hand and cut her off. "Thank you, but I'm sure that my company will find the building more than satisfactory. I'll send everything through to my office and we'll be in touch in by the end of the day.

The real estate agent blinked hard at this. She was obviously used to the hard sell. Pushing at an open door must have been a new sensation. She smiled broadly and escorted him out.

As he left the building Lindsey nodded at the woman and walked off, taking out his cell phone and hitting speed dial.

"Good morning Lindsey," said Holland, "How did the tour go?"

"It went well, sir. The place seems perfect – I'll email everything over so you can see all the details, but the place has a lot to recommend it."

"I'm sure that I trust your judgment," purred Holland. "Good job Lindsey. If you don't have any loose ends to tie up you can take a few days off. You've done a good job. The Senior Partners have been most impressed."

Lindsey shuddered slightly. "Thank you," he said, the words sounding hollow in his ears, "I'll see you in a few days." He turned his cell phone off and stared blankly at the building in front of him. He really hoped that he wasn't going to be posted there. He had heard nasty rumours about Wolfram & Hart offices on Hellmouths. Apparently they either never lasted very long or they went rogue. The firm kept trying though. They never ran out of guinea pigs.

He scratched the back of his head and moved off towards his car. He had the oddest feeling that he was being watched. It had been there all day, ever since he left his hotel, but whenever he looked around he couldn't see anyone. It was driving him nuts. It was probably just Hellmouth-induced paranoia. The place was starting to get to him. At least his head didn't hurt any more. He would have loved to have known just why though. The Osbourne guy had looked at him and muttered something under his breath, as his headache slowly receded. It might have been a spell or something because his wound had started to heal quite quickly. Someone else to look into perhaps.

His memories of the attempted Ascension of Wilkins were ones that he wanted to get rid of. The thing was that he had another nagging feeling that he had missed something. He vaguely remembered seeing a green light to one side and a blue to another, but frankly at the time he'd had other things to worry about, like stopping a vampire from knocking him out for the count.

He shrugged mentally. He wanted to forget as much as possible about that battle. He was a lawyer damn it, not a grunt. Although it was a good thing that he hadn't been with the security personnel that Holland had sent to Granton, all of whom were extremely dead. Apparently the van they were in looked as if someone had painted the walls with blood and entrails. It looked as if Wilkins had been covering his bets before the event and had been keeping an eye out for possible incursions. In that one event he'd been right on the money. True, he had failed to plan for a massed student uprising with weapons attached, but he had obviously thought of everything else. Lindsey shrugged and wandered off in the general direction of his hotel. It was late in the afternoon and he needed a beer badly.

* * *

Xander looked across the road using the reflection thrown by a shop window and tilted his head slightly as he watched McDonald walk up the road. Well, it looked as if the empty office was soon to be filled with evil lawyers. Giles was going to pitch a fit about that one, he could just tell. Although when he had called the Watcher a few hours before to tell him that Monica Ladwinski was showing the lawyer around empty offices in Sunnydale the man had simply sighed slightly and then muttered something about the Watcher's Council needing to get their collective arses in gear and pull something legal. If Giles wasn't too worried then neither was he. But the last thing that they needed was a collection of evil lawyers in town. Vampires and demons were bad enough.

He narrowed his eyes slightly and tugged the baseball cap a bit further down. What would make it worse would be if McDonald was working there as well. The thought of a Force-wielding evil lawyer have him the creeping horrors, especially if this Wolfram & Hart firm was as bad as Giles and Wesley seemed to think.

That led to the other thing that he was worrying about. For some time now he'd been wondering who the other Padawan mentioned by the Host in Caritas would be. From the reference to them being 'halfway' to the Dark Side, it could well be McDonald. The problem was the evil lawyer job. That sounded all the way to the Dark Side, although McDonald didn't feel evil. Confused yes, evil no, apart from a slight patina of darkness. This brought up a number of issues that led to memories of Anakin Skywalker and his descent into evil, memories made Xander grit his teeth slightly. The only other person with Force abilities that he had found so far was Oz, and he had decided to accept training partly as a way to keep his inner fluffy befanged self at bay. True, Oz had seen the benefits that stretched beyond that and was now a truly gifted Consular Jedi, but it had been his choice. Xander had simply identified his potential and trained him. Training for the sake of training in the Force was a bad idea if all that would result was a Sith lawyer. Evil was evil. Even just telling McDonald about his potential abilities was a risk. But there were other issues at stake as well, ones which made him thoughtful. It was something that he was going to discuss with Giles later on.

He sighed. Turning Wilkins in a blob of charred grease on the walls of the school had removed one threat, but now they had to deal with evil lawyers. Well, that was Sunnydale for you. Never a dull moment. He paused. McDonald had entered a bar. Well, a pub really, it was the place that Giles and Wesley hung out in occasionally and played darts. It looked as if he'd need the G-Man to pick up the trail here, as even with the Jedi mind trick he'd have trouble walking into that place without being spotted for an underage customer.

Pulling out his cell phone he hit speed dial. He didn't think that Giles would mind this little chore at all.

* * *

It was something called Stella Artois and it came in pints. And Lindsey liked it. It was cold, it was wet and it took the edge off his thirst. It also, he suspected, had amnesiac properties if taken in large amounts. Lindsey sipped some of the contents of the pint glass and felt a lot better. He would pack up at noon tomorrow or the next day, drive back to LA, drop the car off at the office and head on home, maybe going in to work the day after. Until then he had some time off for once. Wow.

Looking up he caught sight of himself in a mirror across the room and frowned slightly. Well, Wilkins had been stopped. That was good. Even Holland would have to admit that. He had fought on the side of the Slayers, so to speak. That was, in the Wolfram & Hart scheme of things, probably bad but needs must when the devil drives and all that crap. He had done a good thing. He had to admit that it had felt good to take part in that charge, to lash out with that sword. Okay, he'd been terrified at times, but at the same time a part of him had felt happy to be doing something positive. Killing vampires. Well, all of three vampires. Not a lot, but on the balance sheet of life that had to count for something.

He thought about the phrase 'balance sheet of life' and wondered where the hell that had come from. Freaky. What was wrong with him? Why was he thinking all these dumb thoughts? Since when had he cared about doing something positive?

He heard the sound of a full glass of beer being placed on the table and looked up. Rupert Giles was sitting opposite him, wearing a beige shirt and jeans. He looked very serious.

"Staying in Sunnydale long?" asked the Watcher after a long moment.

"I'm leaving in the next day or so," muttered Lindsey. "Straight back to LA. I've got a day or two off."

Giles sipped his beer thoughtfully and then gave him a very brief smile. "How considerate of your employers. Mind if I ask who your superior is by the way? The Watchers' Council does like to keep up to date on who to keep a weather eye on."

Despite himself Lindsey smiled at the thought of Holland and this guy ever clashing. "Holland Manners."

"Manners, Manners," mused the Englishman as he leant back in his chair and looked at the ceiling in a considering way. "Not a name that I've come across myself. However, is he any relation to Nathaniel Manners?"

Lindsey blinked. "No clue. Never heard of him."

"He was one of the lawyers that your firm sent to Germany in 1946. I think he was supposed to defend Kaltenbrunner, the piece of slime that ran some of the death camps and the SS intelligence service. There's an oxymoron for you." Giles's eyes came back down to lock onto his. "I believe that I mentioned my Grandfather and his part in taking care of them all."

A chill ran through Lindsey. This was a very hard man. He made another mental note to check out this guy's file. It should be damn interesting.

"So," said the Watcher, "I take it that Wolfram & Hart is going to be opening a new office here. In Sunnydale." He held up his pint and admired the colour of the golden liquid inside. "The same place as the Slayer. Well, Slayers."

Lindsey paused for a moment. "Well, we're looking at a few properties. After Wilkins'… demise… the firm is going to look at a few places. And maybe here."

The Brit laughed dryly. "Are you saying that that Wolfram & Hart, after a century of being shut out of a Hellmouth, isn't going to try and obtain at least some form of foothold here? Mr McDonald, please don't treat me as a fool." He placed his beer back on the table and directed a very keen and piercing stare at Lindsey. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Sure. But the answer depends on a few things, like if I want to respond," replied Lindsey wryly.

"You seem a tad unsure of your purpose here. And your actions so far seem to suggest that you are not fully apprised of your firm's plans. Or is there a deeper… problem? I think that you are a bit uneasy, Mr McDonald. Not about this place, but perhaps about your role here. Am I right?"

Lindsey's scalp crawled. This guy was right on the money. It was freaking uncanny, it was as if he was picking up on the uneasiness that he'd been feeling since the whole Graduation Day event. Right. Time to bluff. "I don't know what you mean."

Another long, searching gaze came from the Watcher. "I think you do," he said softly. Then he sat up and drained his glass. "Nevertheless, please pass this on to your superiors. Note that I said 'your superiors' and not 'you', because I think that you might just have a few qualms about what they are and therefore you might not be headed down the same soulless road that awaits them. If Wolfram & Hart establishes an office here, the full force of the Watcher's Council will be deployed against your firm. And that is official. Goodbye Mr McDonald." And then he left.

Lindsey sat there for several minutes, his eyes locked on the now vacant chair opposite him. He had a lot of thinking to do.

* * *

Giles sat down in his favourite armchair and sighed slightly. Then he reached out and picked up his cup of tea before looking at the Jedi Knight sitting opposite him. Xander was now wearing a beige shirt and trousers with boots and looked, well, rather like he belonged in those clothes. If he didn't look like a Jedi Knight then he looked like the Earth version of one. Which brought up some interesting questions.

He cleared his throat. "Well, McDonald seems to be a bit of an enigma. A lawyer with Wolfram & Hart but with added… uncertainties. Most interesting." He paused. "I'm not sure that he knows what he's doing. But the Jedi powers is the point that worries me the most."

Xander leant forwards, a slight frown creasing his forehead. "Me too. He can use the Force – he pulled his sword into his hand during the fight against the Mayor's flunkies – but I don't think that he knows what he can do with it. It felt… unfocused, forced, as if he was reacting blindly." He leant back in his chair. "And the fact that he works for an evil law firm frankly scares the proverbial crap out of me. He might not know what he can do, but will they be able to detect it? Use it? Use him?"

That was a very good point and Giles let out a long sigh. He had seen some of the files about Wolfram & Hart in the past, both from the Watcher's Council and Room 42, and both organizations would love to dance on the law firm's grave. Hell, if it was possible then some people would install a dance floor and hire a selection of bands.

"To be honest Xander I don't know. But I don't think that they would allow him to walk away. Not alive anyway. That firm has links to the darkest regions of a number of particular nasty hells and wouldn't hesitate to use those links to gain what they want. And if the – I believe the term is 'Senior Partners', which is a very formal expression for what are a number of powerful, old and very evil demons – people at the top of Wolfram & Hart ever find out about McDonald's powers then they'll use him however they see fit."

Sipping his tea thoughtfully he looked at the Jedi. Xander had a slight frown on his face, which was his version of a massive scowl. To be honest he had to feel for the man. So far his one Padawan learner had been a gifted, empathetic young man with a great deal of promise. To learn that a lawyer from a firm that had an excellent view of the first circle of Hell and probably sold popcorn to people who wanted to watch demons torture people, had a link to the Force must have been terrifying. His mind wandered to Darth Vader for a moment and he shuddered. What would make a man descend to that level? Or the Emperor for that matter? Why would someone embrace evil? One answer came to mind in the form of a single word – power. And power was something that Wolfram & Hart loved, reveled in, worshipped. No, he could understand Xander's hesitation. Help or hinder?

As if the Jedi could hear his thoughts, Xander stood up and paced over to the window, where he stared out. After a moment he looked back at the Watcher. "Giles, I think I need to do some probing. Find out what he knows. And try and see how deep this firm of creepo scumbags have got their talons – or whatever they have – into him. I keep thinking back to the Host in LA – he was the demon I told you about who could see your future when you sing. He said that I'd have two Padawans. He saw Oz and that turned out ok. But he said that my second would be halfway down the path to the Dark Side and I think that this Lindsey guy is the one that he was talking about. He also said that I wasn't to worry – that I was me and not Obi-Wan Kenobi. So that means that McDonald might not be another version of Anakin Skywalker. I hope. So maybe no mini-Vader."

Giles felt his eyebrows go up. "Ah. I never did understand why, um, Anakin did turn evil."

Sighing deeply Xander closed his eyes for a moment, When he looked up again there was a deep pain in his gaze. "Anger. Plus desperation. He dreamt that his wife was going to die. And he thought that the Dark Side could save her. It was all a lie. Palpatine manipulated him into thinking that the Dark Side was stronger than the Light. Plus it was a time of war. Anger, confusion, desperation – it's a bad mix Giles. And because the Jedi didn't know that he was married they failed to realise the pressures that he was under. And they didn't know about Palpatine being a Sith until it was far too late – they were dancing to his tune, not him to theirs. I have some bad memories of it. Very bad." He thought about Mustafar for a moment and then shuddered internally. No. Not that.

The Jedi's face hardened slightly as he walked back over. "And I will not abandon a possible Force user to the Dark Side Giles. There is good in him, I can feel it. He isn't lost to evil yet. There is a chance to turn him away. And I won't let the scumbags at Wolfram & Hart take him. We can't. Too much rests on this thing. Can you imagine the harm that a Sith could do on Earth? Hell, we almost saw it when Amy accidentally dragged a dark version of me through from another dimension. Well not on my watch. I am a Jedi Knight. And I will do what is right."

Giles looked at him. He was right. The man had also come a long way. Nodding slowly the Watcher put his cup down. Right then. Time to broach a few matters.

"I agree. If you can redeem him then that removes a potential weapon from the hands of the nastiest group of demons around on Earth and gives us another ally. Xander, so far I have trusted your judgment implicitly. I see no reason to doubt you now. Please act as you see fit. Just please keep me informed.

"That said, there is another matter. I don't think that I'm being too prying when I say that I'm surprised that you're not going to College. However, your reasons are your own. I would like to ask you about your future plans, especially as I have a possible avenue for you to explore." He leant back in his seat and looked at the Jedi. "I'd like to invite you to become a Watcher."

Xander stared at him in what seemed to be the Jedi version of astonishment. Then, as he opened his mouth, Giles held up a hand to forestall him. "Not, I stress, a full Watcher or a trainee one. I feel that your talents are somewhat interestingly similar to those roles, but that you have grown in certain areas beyond the limits normally defined by the title of Watcher."

Pulling his glasses off he started to polish them with his handkerchief. "There is a Welsh phrase for the role I have in mind – " Sylwedydd Cysgod" – which roughly translates as Shadow Watcher. It's a very old title, for a role that the Watcher's Council has largely forgotten about. It's an independent post, one that allows a great deal of latitude in helping and training Slayers, and it's one that I feel needs to be resurrected. With you in the post, as I feel that otherwise anyone else would be redundant."

Xander stared at the Watcher with the Jedi version of bafflement. "You want me to become a what?" he asked after a while.

"A Watcher. Well, a sort of Watcher, one that plays to your strengths." He looked at the Jedi and sighed. "Xander, when Buffy first came to Sunnydale and we had the little incident with the Master where you and Willow found out that she was the Slayer I will admit that I was somewhat dismayed. As you saw with Kendra, secrecy was supposed to be the order of the day – the Slayer was not supposed to be known to her friends and family. However, you found out. Frankly the pair of you coped in a way that I didn't expect. Just as importantly you have both acted as a valuable touchstone for Buffy, keeping her aware of the world that exists outside slaying.

"But above all your ability to tap into your Jedi memories have especially impressed me. Your skills with the Force have had a major impact on events, Xander. You saw through Post in a flash. You have helped Buffy out of a number of potentially very dangerous situations, in the process taking her sword fighting skills to a new level. And above all you helped us to see that Faith was in trouble, that she needed to be brought in and treated on a different level than Buffy. I didn't see that and Wesley certainly didn't. Without your insights I shudder to think what might have happened. And I'm not saying that I want you to become a full Watcher – just, as it were, an advisor. A Jedi version of a Watcher from the shadows, helping, um, advising, pointing out what you think."

Giles sank back in his seat and looked grim. "The Watcher's Council is divided between modernisers and conservatives, with a few moderates in between. I consider myself a moderniser, just as my parents did, along with Faith's previous Watcher Mrs Horrocks. Unfortunately the conservative faction is in charge, although they do not yet suspect the size of the movement to modernise. As a part of that movement I want things to change. We need new ideas, new, new concepts. And we need new Watchers. And new helpers."

"I understand that, Giles, and I sympathise, I really do. But I'm not sure that I want any information about what Oz and I can do to be out there in the wide world."

This brought a smile from the Watcher. "Xander any information on you would be confined to me. I have done my homework on this. The job of a shadow watcher was often highly confidential and any information was kept very secret. You can trust me with this. All the Council would know would be that I have recruited someone. They may raise a few eyebrows at the secrecy involved, but ironically enough Quentin Travers, the head of the Council, is a traditionalist and would therefore approve. Although what he doesn't know won't hurt him."

Letting out a sigh Xander stood up and ran a hand through his hair. "I don't know about this. To tell the truth Giles I have been thinking about what to do from this point onwards. Oz is going to College to be with Willow. As for me… I have the grades, but I didn't feel that my path led me on the same path. I just have this… feeling that I'm supposed to be doing something else next year. I don't know what yet though. I'd go on helping Buffy no matter what happened, but I just feel that the Force is tugging me somewhere new. I need to meditate on this one. Maybe allow the Force to guide me."

The Watcher directed a level gaze at him. "At least think it over, Xander. I'm not asking for an instant decision. And in addition access to the resources of the Watcher's Council would bring several benefits. Research for one. A salary for another – and yes, I do know that Jedi don't look to material rewards, but this is Earth and you can't pay bills with good deeds. Like I said, think it over."

Nodding quietly Xander grinned quickly. "Yeah, well Uncle Rory has been asking if I need a job any time soon. Now that he's working back at the garage he's getting more work in and people are starting to remember that he's not a bad mechanic now that he's sober again. Using the Force to take engines out of cars is not my idea of the right thing to do."

He paused as the phone rang and Giles leant over to answer it. "Hello? Oh, Faith. Is everything… Oh. Good. Loading his car is he? Ah. Interesting. Well, he did say that he was leaving sometime soon. Where? Um. How interesting, I left him in a pub. No, I think that we can relieve you. Yes, Buffy will be patrolling as well. Good god, I don't want to know what you're going to shake at the Bronze! Yes, thank you Faith. Good luck."

Giles put the phone down and raised his eyebrows. "American girls in the grip of dancing are strange creatures." Then he looked up at the Jedi and smiled wryly. "Well Faith says that McDonald loaded his car up a short time ago and is now in a bar just off Grant Avenue called, originally enough, Grant's. I think that one of us should cover pop in and keep an eye on him. Shall we toss a coin?"

"Nah, I'll do it. It's on my way home anyway and I can swing past a few cemeteries afterwards." He paused. "And yes, Giles, I'll think about it."

* * *

It was another nice bar. You'd think that there would be more people in it, but hey maybe some people had finally cottoned on to the dangers of being out at night. Lindsey wasn't sure about that. The death of the Mayor had sparked a few headlines, but nothing outside Sunnydale really. It was a bit suspicious. Certainly the way that Wilkins' administration had at once imploded messily had been reported – or rather brushed under the carpet – had reinforced that. Wolfram & Hart would love having an office in this place. Some of the corporate weasels that worked for the company would probably have an orgasm on the spot at the very thought of it.

He frowned slightly and looked at his beer. He was wondering though why Wolfram & Hart hadn't had an office in what was Boca Del Inferno before Wilkins had dug his slimy claws into the place. He had an odd feeling that the Sunnydale Office would not be a nice place to be based.

Speaking of odd feelings he had another one right now and he rubbed the back of his neck with a shiver. It came and went and it had been there ever since the afternoon when Wilkins had turned himself into a large slug. It was very strong at the moment and he looked around warily.

The bar was half empty, with a group of businessmen in one corner with their jackets off, obviously winding down after a day at the office, and an off-duty cop with a thousand-yard stare off to one side. A sprinkling of couples along with their friends – and then he saw him. Alexander – sorry, Xander – Harris was standing in the shadows off to one side. He seemed a bit fuzzy, as if he was blending in to the background, but he was there. He also looked rather thoughtful. Lindsey nodded at him and the teenager frowned slightly, as if he was wondering something.

That was something else. His memories of Graduation Day were a bit fuzzy in places – he had been fighting for his life after all – but the more he thought about it, the more came back. He remembered something about some kind of blue light being near the kid during the battle. He hadn't seen it very well, due to the fact that a whole bunch of vampires were trying to either kill him or knock him out, but _something_ had been there. For another thing the kid didn't act like a kid. He was quiet, composed and looked like a coiled spring sometimes. But he still cracked jokes with his friends and obviously cared deeply about them. It was puzzling.

He started slightly as he glimpsed something out of the corner of his eye and then relaxed. Harris had come over and was sitting next to him at the counter, nodding at the barman and asking for an orange juice.

"You know, Harris," he drawled, pausing to drain some of his beer, "Most kids your age wouldn't be allowed in here. Although they'd have some great fake ID to rustle up some illicit beer. I know that I did."

The kid directed a long, searching, gaze at him. "This is Sunnydale," he said quietly after a long moment. "Drinking a lot of beer after sunset is a great way to end up dead. And I'm not like most kids my age."

That looked like it was very true. Whatever had happened to the kid – to Harris that is, the guy was no longer a kid – it had been something pretty powerful. Something that had brought him to Wilkins' attention and that meant that it was probably something magical. The question was first what was it, and second why hadn't Wilkins tried to deal with Harris himself. Or if he had, what had happened? Why had the now-dead Mayor tried to drag Harris's scent across the trail as a diversion for Wolfram & Hart?

"No, I don't think you are," he muttered, before looking at him nonchalantly. Maybe a small lure might help. "Did you know that Wilkins mentioned you when I was here to negotiate the Arrangement with him? He said that you were worth watching."

Harris went up in his estimation, because the guy didn't even blink. Instead he just smiled slightly and drank his orange juice. "I'm sure he did. Watch me instead of him? Not very subtle."

"Yes, but why would he mention you and not, say, that Giles guy?"

"Does your firm have files on Giles?"

"He's a Watcher to a Slayer. Of course they do."

"Then maybe that was too obvious. Anyway, the point is moot, to use a Gilesism. Wilkins is a load of scattered bits of fried you-know-what." Harris drank some more orange juice. "By the way can I ask a question?"

"Sure."

"Why did you say 'they' instead of 'we' when talking about Wolfram & Hart? I just found it interesting."

His drink was almost halfway down his throat at this point, but Lindsey did a magnificent job of not choking. Instead he replayed his words in his head, winced – on the inside – and put the glass down quietly. "Slip of the tongue," he said. "Working for Wolfram & Hart is an… interesting experience."

This earned him another long assessing glance from Harris. "Interesting choice of words," he said eventually, "Especially given the type of client that your company represents." He lowered his voice. "Giles gave me all the news about the lower circles of hell and how they have W&H's number in their rolodex. Do you sleep well at night, knowing what your clients are getting up to? What you're going to have to get them acquitted for? When you get some murdering vampire off and your boss slaps you on the back and says 'well done Lindsey, have a stogie on me', do you think about just what it is that you've done? And the fact that the blood that was on your client's hands might have rubbed off onto yours?"

Harris was looking right at him now and his eyes seemed to pin Lindsey to the spot, as if a sword had pierced him. An irrational anger stirred vaguely. Who the hell was this guy to judge him? Had he had the same kind of life as Lindsey? Hell no. He'd had it easy here… the anger drained away. On the Hellmouth. A place filled with potential blood and death on a scale that he'd rather not think about. Especially for a child growing up here.

He tore his gaze away and concentrated on his drink. Looking to his front was a bad idea as he didn't want to see his expression in the mirror behind the counter. Why did these places have mirrors in the same place? "I have a job. I do my job," he said eventually.

"Do you enjoy it?" Harris asked in an intent voice. It was a voice that seemed to reach down inside the lawyer and screamed at him to answer with the truth. The fuzzy feeling was back again now and was very strong, making it seem as if Harris's voice had something overlaid onto it. Was it magic? He opened his mouth to answer and then caught himself, but it was still a struggle to make his lips meet again and stifle the words that would otherwise have ripped from his throat.

"I… do my job," he said eventually, in a voice that was as devoid of any emotion as Lindsey could make it.

Harris tilted his head at this and looked at him intently again. "Interesting," he muttered.

At this, Lindsey's head came up. "What the hell was that? What was that thing in your voice?" he hissed. But Harris wasn't listening – instead his head had snapped around suddenly and he was staring across the room at the door. Following his gaze Lindsey looked over to see a beautiful young woman come in. She had long black hair, was wearing a dark green dress and looked like she had just popped in to have a wine before meeting a friend. As she walked to the bar more than a few heads turned.

"Nuts," said Harris in a thoughtful voice as he threw the remains of his orange juice down his throat. "Why does do they try to get sneaky? A dedicated follower of fashion, trying to blend in."

"Who is? What are you talking about?" asked Lindsey, feeling confused.

"The Lady is a Vamp. Harry?" The barman walked over. "How long has she been coming in here?"

Harry the barman looked over at the woman, who was trying to attract his attention with a rolled-up $20 bill. "Never seen her before, Xander. She a friend of yours?"

"Nope, she's one of those customers who'll give this place a bad name for attracting corpses. Someone who doesn't tan well, shall we say? I'll take care of her." Xander leant forwards. "Let me get this for you," he called.

Smiling with what Lindsey could see was apparent sincerity, the woman strolled over, although the lawyer couldn't help notice the slight predatory twist that briefly appeared on her lips. She didn't look threatening to him at least.

"Thanks," she purred, "Can I buy you one in ret-" Suddenly Harris leant forwards, his lips smiling but his eyes totally without humour.

"You're going to leave this place now," he said and suddenly Lindsey could feel that odd fuzzy feeling again. The woman just stopped dead in her tracks and stared at Harris, her mouth open and an unfocussed look to her eyes.

"I'm going to leave this place now," she mumbled.

"You're not going to feed here."

"I'm not going to feed here…"

"You're going to wait for me outside."

"I'll wait for you outside…" She wheeled abruptly and marched towards the door, ignoring several potential chat-up lines from some of the men that she passed.

Harris watched her go wryly and then shook his head. "Smart, but weak-minded fangface. Good to get. Ah well." He looked at Lindsey. "Think about what you're doing, Mr McDonald. Think about it real hard, because I don't think that you like the place where you've found yourself. If you'll excuse me I've got a vampire to behead."

As he turned to go Lindsey found his voice. "Wait, what was that, magic?" he hissed, his eyes meeting Harris's for a moment. "What did you just do?"

"I protect the innocent. And for the record, it wasn't magic. It was…" He smiled as he considered his next words. "Something else. Have a nice trip out of Sunnydale. And keep thinking. I don't think you're meant to be evil, you know." And then Harris sauntered out, removing something metallic from under his jacket as he approached the door.

Lindsey watched him go, a frown on his face. He had been using something, some kind of power. He said it wasn't magic, but what did that leave? Tapping his finger on the counter thoughtfully he blinked and turned back to his empty glass before catching the barman's eye and ordering another drink. As he puzzled over what had happened his frown deepened. He had the feeling that something was right under his nose, but that he couldn't make out its shape.

* * *

The house was quiet when he returned home and he paused for a moment in the hallway to savour the near-silence. Somewhere a clock was ticking and the traffic on the main road had died down to a slight murmur of noise. Xander looked around and then walked upstairs to his room, where he sat at his desk and looked out through the window at Sunnydale.

What was out there? What was stirring under the ground? With the Mayor gone what was the latest Big Bad to start to wiggle its fingers – if it had any – into the place? And what else was on the horizon, apart from a flock of lawyers from an evil law firm?

A sigh escaped him. He had a lot of choices ahead of him. The kind of choices that would change his life. Again. And he had to get a better idea of what was going on – what might be ahead of them all. There were two ways he could go about this. Neither was easy and one involved singing. As for the other – there was a chance that he might get at least some pointers from the Force. The chances were that they would be confusing as hell, and possibly very alarming if he failed to place them in the right context, but at least he'd get an idea of what the road ahead might contain. It wouldn't be easy, but he could at least check out the general thrust of things by visiting Caritas and having a word with the man in green. He paused for a moment. Did he want to do this? Well, to be honest no. But he had a nasty feeling that he had to. He sighed.

Hopping off the chair, Xander turned the light off with a flick of the Force and sat down on the floor, crossing his legs as he did. Then he closed his eyes and took a deep breath of air and concentrated on meditation, on deep and even breaths of air while he slowly opened himself to the living Force. It had currents and eddies here and there, patches of light and shade in places. He could feel the people around him as they slept and woke, ate, drank, made love and lived in a thousand threads of life in the immediate area around him. There were other things as well, animals and plants together as they grew and lived and died, from the cat that was asleep in the tree outside to the tiny bug that was falling through the air above the house, dying as it lived the last seconds of its short life. All were a part of the Force, surrounding them and binding them together in a great sea of unity.

He could see that vast entity, he could see the flow of the currents and he allowed his mind to slow as he studied it, looking at where it had been-

-_The three figures ran down the corridor, sprinting to escape the flames as the Mayor's dying shriek still hung in the air before the sound of the explosion ripped it from existence_-

…to where it was…

_- The vampire smiled as it slunk in the shadows, coming up to the blonde girl who was talking so intently to someone called Willow on her cellphone, completely oblivious to her stalker. As he bared his fangs and prepared to pounce she whipped around suddenly, a stake in her hand and then he was looking down to see it in his heart and then_ –

…to where it was going to be…

_- Lindsey McDonald stared at the figure to one side, his face a mask of hatred… a tall man in fatigues looked at a list on a clipboard and winced… three figures in strange armour and tattoos on their foreheads turned to look at him, their faces twisting in alarm as they leveled equally odd staffs at him, the tips of which split apart with a whine of energy… a bald man in air force blue looked at a giant stone ring… a snarl came from the shadows and then a red lightsabre ignited with a hiss. "Time to die Jedi," said a voice that was unrecognisable…-_

Xander's eyes snapped open but he didn't move from his position. Instead he ran the images through his head dispassionately. This was no time to do a Luke Skywalker and leap into deeply premature action. No, this was a time to sit and analyse. And think. Too much was at stake here to go off at half-cock. Although Willow would probably be babbling at this point. After a long moment of contemplation he shook his head. "Road trip."

* * *

Giles peered over his spectacles and gazed at the Jedi carefully. "Road trip?" he repeated uncertainly. "Ummm, where to?"

"LA. A demon bar run by a guy called the Host. I think I told you about him before."

"Oh, yes. The, um, demon who can see the future when you sing." Giles pulled his glasses off and started to polish them heavily. "Can I ask why? Have you seen something?"

The Jedi sighed and sat down on the sofa, his eyes far away. "Giles," he said eventually, "Last night I did a little Force surfing. I meditated in the hope that I'd get a glimpse of what might lie ahead of us. And boy, it was some glimpse. I think it's all tied together, but I don't know how or where or why."

Realising that he felt a bit wobbly Giles sank into his favourite armchair. "At the risk of sounding like a scold, was that, ah, altogether wise? We both know the dangers inherent in trying to predict the future. What you think might happen is seldom borne out by subsequent events."

This earned him a pained nod. "I know, Giles, I know. But I felt that it had to be done. All I saw were flashes, but it was what was in those flashes that freaked me out slightly."

"What did you see?" asked Giles in tones that combined curiousity and dread.

"Our lawyer friend looking very pissed – I mean angry – with the world. A soldier with a list. Some guys in odd armour with staffs that split open at the ends and tattoos on their foreheads. A bald and rather well-fed guy looking at a big stone ring. And…" The Jedi took a deep breath, "Someone with a red lightsabre and a bad attitude to Jedi. Maybe a Sith."

There was a long pause. Then Giles pursed his lips thoughtfully and replaced his glasses. "You're sure it was a Sith?"

"Maybe. They – I couldn't see if it was a he or a she – might have been. And then might not have been. I don't know. Which is why I want to consult the Host. He should be able to tell me what lies in my immediate future. And what I need to start to do."

Giles sat there, his mind racing. "Can I ask if you have any memories of Obi-Wan being able to interpret visions of the future with the Force?"

This time the Jedi shrugged. "Yes and no. Small things only – by the time that Palpatine made his big grab for power, the Dark Side was clouding everything, so Obi-Wan was never able to see with much clarity. I know enough not to want to analyse what I saw to death, Giles. Chances are that's a great way to make some wrong guesses and get blindsided by real events. Which is why I think we need an expert view on this."

Xander leant forwards. "Besides, I think that it would be good for Buffy to get away from the Hellmouth for a while. Maybe Willow and Oz as well. We've all been fighting so hard recently that I think that a break might be a great way to catch our breath."

However, this earnt him another level stare from the Watcher. "You want this Host chap to look at them as well, don't you?"

Xander grinned slightly sheepishly. "Well, yes. We never had a chance to see Caritas when we were in LA before to pick up Oz's lightsabre gem. I think that we can kill two birds with one stone here, G-Man."

This gave Giles pause for thought. There was a great deal here to consider but the immediate implications were obvious. They knew that there was a storm coming, but they had no idea how far away it was – it might be tomorrow, a week or a year away. The more information they had the better. And on the other point, Buffy was looking a bit tired of late. A short break might do her the world of good. At least her mother was more understanding about her daughter's powers now. "I agree," he said slowly. "I'll have a word with Buffy and her mother. The Council will be able to fund you for hotels and so forth." Looking up at the Jedi he managed a small smile. "Do your best, Xander."

* * *

"We know a great deal about Mr Sullivan. We know that he had the motive for the murder. We know that he had the opportunity for the murder. And we know that he had the means to carry out the murder. Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, the prosecution's case will show that there is no possible doubt that Mr Sullivan carried out this terrible attack, just as there is no doubt that he planned it as well."

Lilah looked at the Assistant District Attorney as he droned on and on at the Jury. This guy was half-way competent. What a thrill. She could feel her pulse racing. Not. She stole a glance at her client. Sullivan was a large moron with a brain the size of a gerbil and a mean streak a mile wide. Unfortunately he was a moron with an extremely rich and much more intelligent and well-connected father who knew some people at Wolfram & Hart. Getting the guy off was going to be easy. All she had to do was coach him to grunt his lines, plant some seeds of doubt in the empty heads of the 12 people sitting to her right and then make sure that the only serious witness had a nasty accident, like accidentally committing suicide whilst combing his hair. Easy.

That wasn't the cause of her anger however. No, she was annoyed at Holland stinking Manners for giving her this cakewalk. It wasn't a major case, it was a joke. The Senior Partners weren't going to notice her for getting the moron in the suit next to her off from this murder rap.

She seethed behind her placid face. No, the Senior Partners were going to pat Manners' blue-eyed boy Lindsey McDonald for helping the Slayers blow up Wilkins. She sulked for a moment. An entire building blown up and almost no collateral damage. What a rotten result. If she'd been there she would have engineered some more explosives, enough to prevent the Slayers and their Watchers from escaping. That was the right way to get things done.

The ADA was still whittering on and she stifled a sigh. This was going to be a waste of a few days. Days that she could have spent studying the lightsabre. It… intrigued her. She had no idea what kind of person could have built it and, judging by the report that had been next to it, neither had Wolfit and his tame geek. A red lightsabre. A Sith lightsabre. She thought about what Lindsey would look like with the blade sticking out the middle of his forehead and bit back a smirk. Then she thought about what she could do to Manners with it and the stifled smirk became a small smile. Manners had given all the plums to McDonald and all the dross to her. If she saw him dying in the street she wouldn't bother spitting on him.

By now she was smouldering with anger again, not letting it show on her face. It wasn't right. It wasn't fair! She was a better lawyer than the tiny Texan. She deserved to be the up and coming person that the gossip columns would talk about. She was destined to get the top faster than the others. She'd done the work, the scheming, the schmoozing, the spying. She deserved it all! She…

Turning her head she looked at the ADA. His voice sounded off, hoarse, his eyes were wider and he kept fingering the collar of his shirt, as if it was too tight. He cleared his throat and kept speaking, only to stop after a strangled noise escaped his throat.

"Are you alright Mr Harkness?" asked the Judge, looking concerned.

Harkness nodded abruptly, his fingers working at the collar again, but his face was going red. Lilah looked at him with a dark glee. It looked like he was having a heart attack or something.

"Can't… breathe…" protested Harkness, loosening his tie frantically, as his team started to react around him, mostly with confusion and panic.

"Call an ambulance!" shouted the Judge, standing up by his chair as the ADA turned a really nasty shade of red and fell to his knees, hitting the desk as he did. There was a noise behind Lilah and she turned in time to see a paramedic burst through the doors at the back of the room and run up the aisle with a case marked with a red cross. As the woman ran past she caught Lilah with the tip of one shoulder, jolting her slightly and sending the papers she'd been studying flying all over the desk. Lilah glared sullenly and then started to pick up the scattered documents.

A great whoop of breath showed that Harkness had suddenly been able to breathe properly again and Lilah looked up, startled. The ADA was sitting on the floor, trembling and rubbing at his neck as the paramedic checked him out carefully. "I think I'm ok," he said shakily.

"Stay to be checked out please Mr Harkness," said the Judge, and then banged her gavel once. "Court is recessed temporarily."

As the crowd behind her stood and babbled Lilah stared at the ADA. How odd. It was just like that idiot back at the office. What the hell was going on?

* * *

If a bird had looked down as it soared over the cliffs next to the ocean it would have seen a long strip of tarmac that sinuously followed the coastline. And if it had look a bit harder it would have seen the moving dot that was the car as it drove north along the road. And if it had really paid attention then it would have seen the four occupants, one with blonde hair, two with red and finally the dark-haired driver.

But the bird was more interested in the fact that it was hungry and missed the whole thing.

Buffy rested her arms on the sides of the convertible and looked out at the ocean with half-closed eyes. It looked very blue and the sun was shining straight down on her face, making her feel all warm and tingly. She smiled slowly. Nothing to do but look at the scenery. Sweet. Nothing to stake for the time being, nothing to fight, nothing to do but relax for a bit. Giles, Wesley and Faith had the Hellmouth under control and now she was with her closest friends on a road trip in central California. It was going suspiciously smoothly, if she looked at it in a paranoid way, which was the best way to avoid nasty surprises in her life. She sighed again and closed her eyes fully, letting the warmth of the sun seep into her skin. This was nice.

She heard a brief 'eep!' from Willow, who was sitting directly behind her and then an 'oooh' of disappointment. "Another false alarm Wills? Giles did say that it was the wrong time of year to see them."

She could imagine the pout that was forming behind her. "Just another sea lion. Hey-ho. Not a whale."

"You really have the whale-fixation off to a 't', Wills. I never knew. What caused it?"

She heard a short laugh to her right. "Long story, Buffy," drawled Xander. "Short version? She heard a rumour that there was a whale on Sunnydale's beach when we were both eight. Our Wills got all excited and dragged me down there to discover… a whale-shaped balloon. Apparently it got free from a parade in LA and blew our way. Gave some fishermen a hell of a fright when they first saw it. And Willow's been looking for a real whale ever since."

"I've never seen one," mumbled Willow. "I didn't even get to see Free Willy because that was the year I got chickenpox. Stupid chickenpox."

"They're out there," said Oz. "Big ocean. You'll see one, honey."

"Yeah, listen to Oz, Wills," said Buffy sleepily. The motion of the car and the warmth was making her feel drowsy. "They're out there, singing whatever they sing."

"Sad songs," said the Wiccan. "I'll bet they're sad."

"Can you blame them?" said Xander. "I'll bet that… that…" The Jedi's voice trailed off and Buffy, suddenly fully awake, turned in her seat sharply to look at Xander, who was staring off out to sea.

"Damn," he muttered, snapping his attention back to the road. "Oz, can you feel that? We need a parking spot." As he spoke one appeared ahead and he slowed down and glided into it.

"Yes. What is it?" said Oz, who was also looking out to sea, shading his eyes with his hand.

"I don't know," said the Jedi as he got out of the car and walked over to the guardrail to stare out at the horizon. "I've never felt anything like it. It feels… wrong. Alien."

"Uh, guys? What's wigging you out?" Asked the Slayer as she felt up one sleeve for Mr Pointy and then looked around before hopping out of the car. Oz was out of the car as well by now and the four of them looked out. "Something in the sea?"

"Something in the air, Buffy. A long way away. Coming down fast."

"Metallic," muttered Oz and Xander nodded.

"Yeah. Not so much evil as… different. Metallic, you're right. A big signal in the Force, anyway. And alien as hell. Coming in from space." Then he paused and frown again. "Whoa, what was that?"

"Coming down too hard?" guessed his fellow Jedi.

"Coming down anyway. Down too fast, it's breaking up."

"I still don't see anything," whined Willow worriedly. "Are you guys sure about this? Where is it?"

Two arms shot out and pointed to the same area of the horizon. "It's a long way out Buffy. A few hundred miles at least. Big signal in the Force and… wow, it just exploded I think. It's gone." He blew out a breath and looked over at Oz, who raised an eyebrow. "That was freaky."

"What was it?" asked the Slayer.

"I have no idea, but whatever it was it's gone now. Must have hit the water and been destroyed. It was big though. And it was coming down on a clear trajectory, until it went all wobbly and crashed." He frowned and Buffy realised that he looked worried.

"You okay Xander? I mean you guys did sense this thing go kablooie. Is there a problem that needs slaying here?"

Pausing to go into what Buffy now called his 'Xander goes all still and force-ness' stance, the Jedi looked up. "No, I can't sense anything now. That was freaky." But he was still frowning as they all got into the car.

"Okay Xander, spill. Something's bugging you."

"I was just remembering what happened earlier this year when I met the Sith version of me. What he said. He was talking about starship designs. Of needing them. And he mentioned something called the Goa'uld. I'd put it to the back of my head, but I wonder if we should start to look into it. It must be important."

* * *

It was a small coffee shop that faced north, with a great view of the ocean and the headland to one side. Small tables and chairs stood outside, where a number of black-clothed people were drinking coffee in the shade of the two trees that framed the entrance. The people looked a lot like hung-over Goths, reflected Xander wryly. No wonder the pained looks.

But coffee was coffee and although neither he of Oz needed any, it was a different case with Buffy and Willow, both of whom looked as if they needed caffeine rather badly. They had spent the past two nights hunting down and killing a small but quite nasty group of assorted demons that were living in a set of caves close to Route One and preying off passing people who liked the view. Well, said demons were now in various pieces in a large hole in the ground that they had filled in.

Xander pushed the door open and held it for Buffy and the others as they filed in. Then he blinked. He was facing a mural on the opposite wall of a large group of Disney cartoon-like animals dancing around a fire. It was painted in primary colours that appeared to be burning holes in his retinas and looked implausibly tacky.

He wasn't the only the only person to be affected by it. Buffy blinked just as hard and took a step back, Willow had a fit of the giggles and Oz raised an entire eyebrow and said: "Whoa."

The bell of the door had tinkled in a rather Far Eastern way as they entered and now they heard a muffled thump as someone fiddled with the bowels of the coffee machine at the counter. Whoever it was, they were the only other person in the shop. They were also in a bad mood judging by the muffled swearing.

Xander and Oz sighed and looked at each other. "Better leave it to Buffy," said the taller Jedi. "We don't want to draw too much attention to ourselves here."

Buffy turned to look at them quizzically and was opening her mouth to ask the obvious question of what they were talking about when the person behind the counter straightened up, drying his hands on a cloth.

"Hey dudes, what can I get you cats?" asked the man that the Jedi could instantly tell was a vampire. Then he took a good look at Buffy and went as white as a sheet. "Oh man. Maximum uncool. Petal?"

His last word was directed at the back of the shop, where someone was moving around and complaining about the freshness of the salami. Then a female voice called out that she was coming, before a woman dressed in a long green skirt, a blue blouse and a shawl out of the 70's appeared. Another vampire. She smiled fondly at the first vampire, saw his expression, turned to look at the quartet in from of them and then fainted.

"Oh man…" quavered the male vampire again, "Um… hi?"

"Wow," said Buffy, "Fangfaces who know who I am and… Hold it. Don't I know you?"

"Um… yeah? You told us to leave town. We were skipping anyway, 'cause we saw him take down a pack of vampires." He stared at Xander like a very small snake seeing his first mongoose. "You're the Jedi guy from Sunnydale. We heard rumours about you. Um. Don't kill us? Please?"

Xander turned to stare at Buffy. "Whoa, hang on a second. You met them and didn't stake them? And why don't I feel anything really violent from these two?"

This caused much rolling of the eyes from Buffy. "Well, they were just so pathetic. They were moving out and loading up a van when I turned up and then they saw me and did, well, what they're doing now, although how a vampire can faint I don't know, as Giles said it's possible in their little fangy brains, and this one begged and I let them go after they promised not to come back." She looked at the Jedi. "They saw you cut through a gang of vamps, because they mentioned sheer terror and stuff." Then she looked a bit embarrassed. "Actually they thought that I was you at first."

Turning back, Xander eyed the vampire closely. He looked as if he was either about to faint or throw up. "Ok, you don't bite, right?"

"No way man, that's way uncool. Bad karma." The vampire shuddered violently and then looked uneasily at the lightsabre that was half-hidden behind Xander's tunic. "Balance of life, man. Slayer and Jedi against the forces of the night? That's balance. Um… are you going to use that? It's just that Petal has a carrot cake in the oven and if it's left on too long it gets real hot."

Blinking slightly, Xander repressed a grin. Then he thought about a few things. "What's the carrot cake made of?" He asked suspiciously.

"Carrots, usual stuff, man." The vampire seemed to be relaxing slightly and by the odd groans from behind him his wife was waking up.

"No blood? Guts? Brains? Recycled human material in anything in this shop?"

"No way man, have you seen the lawyers that work for the environmental protection people these days? Sharks, the lot of them."

Xander looked at the display of organic cakes and various coffees incredulously. "Ok," he said eventually, "I didn't see that one coming. You're saying that all this is on the level?"

The white-faced vampire nodded vigorously. Then he caught sight of the lightsabre that Oz was holding up his sleeve and he brightened. "Oh, wow, Petal – there's another Jedi here! Maximum coolness! Yeah, Skywalkers all over California! George Lucas eat your heart out!" He caught the look on their faces and recoiled abruptly, muttering "Oh man, we're gonna get dusted," over and over under his breath in a kind of mantra.

Pulling out Mr Pointy, Buffy leant over a carrot cake in the middle of the display and prodded it suspiciously before sniffing it. "Smells ok. Very yummy as well, which is wiggy." She turned to face the female vampire, who was staggering to her feet. She was whiter than her husband. "What's in it?" barked the Slayer at the vampire, who swayed like a tree that can see a hurricane coming.

"Um… flour? Carrot? Egg?" she said faintly.

"Anything else?" asked Buffy, twirling the stake between her fingers so fast that it blurred. The female vampire – Petal, wasn't it? – scurried up to her husband and clutched at his arm. He patted her in a well meaning but distracted manner. Both watched the spinning stake as if they were hypnotised by it.

"Ummm…. Sugar? Cinnamon? Nutmeg?" squeaked Petal.

"Blood? Intestines? Icky gloopy things from inside people?"

Petal pulled a face. "No way! A lot of our customers are vegetarians and you can't put that kind of stuff in because…" she ground to a halt as Oz stepped forwards. "Nope."

The former werewolf reached over, broke off a small piece of carrot cake, sniffed it intently and then popped it in his mouth. "Interesting," he said after a crumb-filled moment. "Good. Allspice?"

The vampires nodded. Oz turned to the others. "It's clean. How much for a slice?"

"Fifty cents?" came the disbelieving response.

Oz reached into his pocket and pulled out two quarters. "They're harmless. Let's eat."

As they sat there, eating cake in the café that seemed to be run by two hippy vampires, Xander paused for a moment. Appearances could be very deceptive at times. And he realised something two other things. Firstly that he really had to get Giles and, yes, Wesley, looking into some of the potential threats on the horizon. The earlier incident with the alien thing in the sky was troubling him a great deal now. And the other thing was that he needed to ramp up his training. So far he had mastered Form I of lightsabre technique, also known as Shii-Cho, and he had also made some progress in catching up to Obi-Wan's memories in his use of Form III, Soresu. He also had the basics of Form VII, or Vapaad, which he'd used against the Sith version of himself. But if tyhere was a Sith out there – or coming – he needed to hone his skills. And train Oz even harder.

As he looked out of the window he could feel something in the air. There was a storm coming. Far or near, he could just sense it. There was work to be done.

* * *

Jack O'Neil drew up in his parking space whistling cheerfully, popped the car in park mode and got out, still whistling, only to stop and raise his eyebrows in surprise. Daniel Jackson had a new car. It was… different.

"Hey Spacemonkey, didn't anyone ever tell you to buy American? What happened to the Chevy?"

Daniel started slightly from where he had been frowning at the car next to his new landrover and then smiled. "Long story."

"Cliff notes version?"

"Engine blew up."

"Oookay, I'll bite: why?"

"Well, according to the mechanic it was, quote, a piece of crap from Detroit, unquote. So I got a new one."

Jack looked at it consideringly and then raised his eyebrows. "I never saw you as a 4by4 kinda guy."

"I'm not, I'm just more used to driving Landrovers. I've driven them in nearly every dig I've been on, and they've never broken down, let alone, exploded. Jack…"

"What's the mileage on it? Holy crap, how many gear levers has this thing got? You know, Danny, if you'd asked me, which, I'm hurt to say, not to mention slightly miffed, you didn't…"

"Jack…"

"Yes, pro-British Spacemonkey?"

"Have you noticed something about Sam's car?"

He turned and looked at it. Nope, still dark blue, still American damn it, still got the little planet thing hanging from the rearview mirror.

"Nope. Why?"

"It's in the same position it was in on Friday, that's why."

Jack peered at it. "It is not! Besides how can you tell?"

"Um, because I'm an archaeologist, and I'm trained to notice stuff?"

"You didn't notice that your engine was about to blow up?"

This earned him a glare. "This is different."

"Why?"

"It just is. I think that Sam's pulled another all-weekender."

"Oh come on Daniel, no way. Not after I chewed her out over doing that last month. And the month before that. And not after we spent part of last week in orbit, blowing replicator bugs to hell on Thor's ship."

A grin stole over Daniel's face. "Bet you she has?"

"How much?"

"Ten dollars."

"Done. But tonight, when I'm at home drinking the beer that I bought with your money, I will think of your ability to bet on really _stupid_ things."

Daniel snorted at that, before grabbing his bag of rocks or whatever he had with him, and heading off to the main entrance.

Having gone through the usual rigamarole of signing in and security checks and having gotten into their usual fatigues, the pair were wandering down the corridor towards Carter's lab when a large figure hove into view.

"Hey T, how was your flying trip to Chulak?"

The former Jaffa inclined his head and smiled. "It was most agreeable. Master Bra'tac sends his greetings."

"How is the old guy?"

"He is well. He wishes to know when you will take up his offer of a demonstration of Tauri hand to hand fighting skills."

"Well," said Jack, deadpan, "I guess that's going to depend on General Hammond. Seen Carter at all this morning?"

"No. I returned only a few hours ago. Why do you seek her?"

Jack traded glances with Spacemonkey. "Oh, just something we need to check."

The Jaffa raised an eyebrow. "O'Neill, have you and Daniel Jackson made another wager?"

"No! Well… maybe. Daniel says that her car's in the same position as on Friday night, so we're trying to find out if Carter pulled another weekender again."

The other eyebrow went up. "Has she not been told that she must cease that practice by Dr Frasier?"

"Yes, and by me, and Hammond, and the freaking world for all I know, but you know Carter. Put a doohickey in front of her and she reacts like it's the only thing in the world. But I'm sure that she didn't, I mean with so many warnings she… ah. Here we are."

He put out his hand and knocked on the door. Nothing. "See? She's not in. Probably in the canteen eating her fruit loops and thinking technical stuff."

Daniel looked dubious. "Jack, there's a light on in there." He reached forwards and opened the door.

They looked in. Then Jack sighed and pulled a ten buck note out of a pocket and handed it over to Daniel, who was looking too goddamn smug for his own good.

"O'Neill, how much have you lost to Daniel Jackson by now?"

"Sixty-five dollars and fifty-one cents," said Daniel, now sounding smug as well.

Teal'c looked as if he was about to say something, but the baleful look in Jack's eye obviously warned him that this was a touchy subject.

"Ohfercryingoutloud, c'mon." Jack walked into the lab, which looked as it had been hit by a snowstorm of paper. In the middle was a large desk, with a small round device seated on a set of blueprints. Wires were hanging from the device, which was also surrounded by tools, and slumped over on a stool, her head on her arms on the desk, was the sleeping form of Major Samantha Carter.

"Sam?" said Daniel gently. Then louder, "Sam?"

"Carter!" said Jack loudly, causing the blonde major to wake with a start and a muttered comment about putting the garbage out in a minute, dad.

She blinked muzzily at them all. "Sir? What are you doing here at this time of night?"

"Morning, Major, morning not night. 0751, to be precise," he said chidingly, jabbing a finger at his watch for emphasis.

"That can't be sir, it's…" she caught sight of her own watch and ground to a halt. "Oops."

"Oops indeed. You been here all weekend? And remember that I can have the records checked…"

She looked abashed. "Yes sir. Sorry. But-"

"No buts! Want me to inflict ol' Doc Frasier on you? Again?"

"No, sir but-"

"Ah! I am irked, Carter. Irked."

She blinked at him tiredly and then noticed the $10 bill in Daniel's hand. A small smirk crept over her face. "You had money on me not being here?"

"As a matter of fact, yes Carter. Hence the irkedness." He sighed and shook his head. "It's a good thing we don't have a mission today, Major. Nothing pisses me off more then fighting the snakes with a sleeping team member. Get some sleep today and I won't tell Dr Dread and her collections of needles and glares."

"Yes sir," she said, still looking abashed, "Thank you sir."

He waved a vague hand at the mess in her office. "Now would you mind telling us what kind of doohickey got you to risk the displeasure of your superior officer and lose me $10?"

It was like flipping a switch. Her eyes lit up and she just oozed enthusiasm. "It's this sir," she said, pointing at the silver object. "It's amazing! The possibilities are astonishing! It's-"

"A doohickey. Carter, what is it?"

"It's an energy cell sir. And from the design specs it's a very powerful one. If I can get it to work, that is."

"Meaning that it doesn't work now. Okay, I can see the weekend vanishing part. But why get all excited about a battery?"

She gave him a look that combined exasperation and amusement. "It's far more than a battery sir. As you know, we've been looking for a portable power unit to power some of the experimental energy weapons that we've been designing for some time now, but they've always proved to be inadequate, good for no more than five of six shots at the most."

"I remember," said Jack. "And the backpack it came with weighed a goddamn ton." He looked at the cell again. "This is different I take it? It's a bit… small."

"Yes sir," giving him the big smile and enthusiastic look again. "But it's got the potential to power a staff weapon for years!"

"That would make it a significant find, Major Carter," said Teal'C.

"If it worked…" pointed out Daniel and perky Carter became tired Carter in an instant. She stared down at it and gave a helpless shrug before yawning.

"I've assembled it correctly, but it won't keep a charge. There's nothing wrong with the capacitors or anything else. I've tried everything and it just sits there." She shook her head again and then opened her mouth for another even larger yawn.

Jack looked sharply at her. "Stay awake Carter." Then something occurred to him. "If this thing's so advanced where did we get it from?"

Carter blinked muzzily at him. "Colonel Tsongas at the patent office in Washington flagged it up for us. It came in from California a few months back but this is the first time anyone has been able to see it, let alone build it."

A warning bell went off at the back of Jack's brain. "This was invented by a company in California?"

"No, sir, by a…" she sorted through the papers and finally found the one she was looking for. "Alexander Harris. No company name."

"Nuts," he muttered. "Someone in California just happens to invent a power cell that's more advanced than anything else we have? That doesn't sound right."

Carter blinked. "I know what you're thinking sir, but no. The design is advanced, but it's not Goa'uld sir. I checked that first of all."

"Indeed it is not," rumbled Teal'c. "It bears no resemblance to any Goa'uld device that I have ever seen."

Daniel cleared his throat meaningfully. "Besides Jack, have you ever heard of a Goa'uld patenting an invention?"

This is was a good point and Jack nodded thoughtfully. Picking the doohickey up he inspected it carefully. Looked like a standard earth doohickey, but there was something about it that tugged at the back of his mind. "Well, Major, leave it be for five minutes and come with us to get some breakfast. You…" He stopped when he noticed that Carter had fallen asleep again and was slowly bending forwards over the desk. Very gently he grabbed her shoulder to stop her head hitting the surface and looked at the others, who were watching with some concern.

"Danny, pull that blanket off her cot," he whispered, "While I put her to bed." As Daniel bustled and Teal'c gently pulled the papers out of her hand, Jack carefully put one arm around her back and another under her knees and slowly carried her over to her cot, which was showing little sign of having been slept in. Putting her down he draped the blanket over her, shook his head fondly and led the others out, pausing to pick up the blueprints and the doohickey.

Once the door had been shut and they had passed further down the corridor Daniel finally opened his twitching mouth. "Sam spent the weekend trying to make it work, Jack, so what makes you think that you can do what she can't?"

"How difficult can it be?" he asked. Seeing the expressions on their faces he shrugged. "Okay, forget I said that. But I can read a blueprint and provide the O'Neill touch."


	28. Decisions

This marks the end of my longest story ever. Before anyone screams at me, I'd like to stress that it's the end of the beginning. This chapter will bring Jedi Harris to an end. It will have a sequel. It's already writing itself. But this is the end of Book One, as it were. More will come folks. Thanks for reading, and keep watching out for Jedi Harris 2.

* * *

For once the rain was sheeting down outside the apartment, while lightning cracked holes in the night, leaving blue-white streaks in the air, or so the eye observed. It looked impressive and it showed the power of the storm. Could the City cope? Should the City cope? Did he care? No. It was just something that someone else should worry about. Anyone watching from the outside might have been able to see a dark figure, dressed all in black glance briefly at the view and then dismiss it with a contemptuous shake of the head. No, there were far more important things to think about.

A wave of the hand brought the relevant file up. Interesting. She seemed so normal on the surface… but once you dug down a little then you found all kinds of interesting, not to mention festering, issues. Oh this one had all kinds of knots in the woodwork. The figure paused. Just because she was the only one to appear, didn't make her the right choice. But the information so far… it all pointed to her being the only choice so far. There was power there. Badly used, ill-formed, too tenuous for words at times, but there was something there, alright. It was typical that Wolfram & Hart hadn't picked up on it so far. But then their Senior Partners did prefer more conventional… magicks. They had no idea what else was out there. It was pathetic at times. They were pathetic at times. Their concept of power was like a mailed fist, even when they tried to be subtle. The truth was that they wouldn't recognise subtle if it hit them with a writ in the face.

The figure closed the file with another wave and smiled. Perhaps an apprentice at long last? Maybe. There was a lot to think about. He just needed a chance to talk to her. Perhaps a little legal manoeuvring? There was always a way around things. It was time to step out of the shadows. It was time to move. He had observed for long enough. Now it was time to act.

* * *

The G-Man sure had a nice apartment, thought Faith as she lounged on the chair, looking around. Nice pictures even. One was of a bay somewhere, a long strand of sand that reminded her of something. Another was of a series of hills, covered in green stuff. She got up to look at it. Whoa. Green stuff with trenches and shit. It looked like jungle, and there was a tank on one of the slopes. It looked beautiful and terrifying at the same time, as if a battle was going on in a tropical paradise. She paused. Double whoa. She was starting to think in words of more than two syllables. Freaky.

"Here we are," said a cheerful voice, and then Giles walked back in, holding a tray. He put it down carefully, handed her a mug of strong coffee and then put a plate of crumpets on the table. Faith chugged the coffee contentedly and sighed. The G-Man made good coffee. Hot and milky but full of caffeine. Just like Horry used to make. She sat down, grabbed a crumpet and bit down. Yum. "Hey, Giles," she said after a buttery moment of bliss. It had been a hard evenings slaying, especially minus B and the two Jedi. Wesley was off researching a purple spidery thing that had almost had a heart attack when it saw her. "What's with the picture of the jungle?"

Giles looked up at the wall where the painting was hanging and smiled slightly. "Oh, that. My cousin sent it on from England. It was painted from memory by our grandfather, in India, near the border with Burma. He was at a place called Kohima, in April 1944. A beautiful place, but the scene of a terrible battle, where the 14th Army, in which my grandfather served, smashed a Japanese offensive to pieces."

The smile had hardened on the Watcher's face. Now, as he looked back at Faith, it softened again. "A hard battle, that along with the related siege of Imphal nearby. A lot of good men died, but it was the beginning of the end for the Japanese there. It was one of their most terrible defeats. Tens of thousands of them were killed, in very bitter fighting. At one point, in Kohima, my grandfather was less then a grenade's throw from their front line."

He sighed. "There's a memorial there, close to where he stood. It says: 'When you go home, Tell them of us and say: That for your tomorrow, We gave our today.'

"I've always thought," he said roughly after a moment, "That those words should be adopted by the Slayers. I intend that they will be one day."

Faith stared at the picture and mouthed the words silently. "I like that," she said after a while. "That's what it means, don't it? What we do?"

"Yes and no," said Giles grimly. "No more useless sacrifices. Just fighting for what is right and for the right to give the Slayers at least part of a normal life."

They clinked coffee mugs together. "I'll drink to that."

* * *

She was sitting in a field looking at the flowers and wondering why she was wearing nothing but combat boots when she heard the noise. It sounded like a phone. Why would someone have a phone in a field? It was very loud and insistent. Not to mention irritating. She looked around and then, abruptly, she woke up. Argh. It was dim in the room and there was a blanket over her. She stared at it muzzily and then glared at the phone, which took that moment to fall silent. "Great," she muttered, and closed her eyes again. Sleep. Something tickled at the back of her mind. What was it? She had the feeling that something wasn't right. But what? She thought back. Phone. Sleep. Dream. Naked. Hell, what was that about? Right, back. Sleep…Colonel O'Neill… Daniel… an errant memory sparked, something that she'd heard whilst sinking into the depths of slumber. Something about 'taking care' of the energy cell…

Major Samantha Carter's eyes flew open. She went one way, the blanket went the other and she was upright almost instantly, looking at her desk. Oh god. Oh GOD! The blueprints were gone. So was the energy cell. And there was a good chance that they were in the hands of Colonel Jack "What does this big red button do?" O'Neill. She grabbed her fatigues jacket and ran for it, almost knocking over Sergeant Siler as he went off somewhere with that massive wrench of his again.

As she ran she looked at her watch and then shuddered to a halt. She'd been asleep for 12 hours. That meant that she must have been extremely tired. That also meant that Jack had been in possession of the device for a long time. Oh hell. She ran on.

When she arrived at Colonel O'Neill's office, she looked reassured to see Daniel and Teal'c there as well. Judging by the fact that Daniel was blowing on a new cup of coffee, they had just arrived. She looked around wildly.

"Relax, Carter," said a voice over the tinny sounds of something carrying out a strafing run on something easily combustible, "Your doohickey is fine. It's on the table. Still doesn't work, but it's fine."

"What happened to the 'O'Neill Touch'?" asked Daniel, obviously trying not to smile.

"It's fine. That thing, however, isn't." There was the sound of more firing, followed by a whomph noise. "Crap," said Jack as he emerged from behind his computer and tossed the control to one side. "Damn flak." He looked at Carter with some amusement as she inspected the device carefully. She seemed surprised to find it in one piece. To tell the truth, so did Daniel.

"I was just trying to help, Carter."

She glared at him. "Please ask next time, sir. I was close to finding out what was wrong with it, I know I was."

"Nope."

Daniel's eyebrows rose and he shared a glance with the Jaffa. Then he started to count down from ten in his head. When he reached five, Sam said on cue: "Nope? I'm sorry sir, what do you mean by 'nope?'"

"Nope, you weren't close to solving it. You can't make it work, Carter."

"Well… Sir… with all due respect how do you know anyway?"

"Because…" Jack drawled, pulling the blueprints over and flipping through them carefully to one sheet, "The guy who built this thing left a piece out. It goes here." His finger jabbed down. Then he looked up to see them all staring at him. "What?"

"How do you know how to read blueprints?" asked Daniel, wondering if he'd slipped into an alternate dimension.

"Because I patented a stabilising device for my telescope during my short-lived retirement. And because I'm a pilot," said Jack, saying this last part in a slow voice, as if he was talking to very small children. "I fly planes. Planes have things that can go wrong. If they go wrong in mid-air, kablooie things can happen. That can be bad. I walk over every plane before a flight to make sure it's not in a pre-kablooie state. Is this too hard for you to grasp?"

Sam closed her mouth, raised her eyebrows, lowered them again, seemed about to say something, changed her mind and then glared back down at the plan. When she looked up she said: "I'm sorry sir, but there's nothing there."

"I know. Which is why it won't work. Look at the first page, with the drawing of the whole thing. See that connecting arm at the back? The one that you can barely see? It's not on the other pages of the blueprint but it connects two areas and I'll be willing to bet that it's the bit you need to make it keep a charge. It should be listed on this page. But it's not."

There was a moment whilst Sam compared the two pages with the device. Then she slumped down on the chair that Jack had been using. "Damn," she said. "I wonder how it works?"

"I don't know," shrugged Jack. "Not on the blueprints though. And therefore a problem."

Daniel leant over the plans and frowned. "Odd. Why take the time and trouble to patent something and then not bother with one of the most important parts?"

"I'm sure I couldn't tell you," said Jack, fiddling with the controller in an absent minded manner and getting the look on his face that meant that he wanted to blow things up again.

"Still, it's odd." Daniel looked down again at the plans and then, acting on a whim, bent over to look at them carefully. Just before he leant back up again he caught sight of something out of the corner of his eye and stared at it. "That's odder. Sam, what's this strange writing on the side here?"

"What strange writing?" asked a startled Sam and Jack almost as one.

"I'm not sure…" mused Daniel, running his hands through various pockets. Finally he pulled out a foldable magnifying glass, blew the fluff from it, polished it carefully and then leant over to look at the strange symbols. They were curved and entirely alien to him. "Never seen that before."

Taking the glass away from him, Jack inspected the writing. "Looks like chicken scratches to me. What do you think, Carter?"

The blonde Major looked at the writing and then straightened up. "Never seen it before. Looks vaguely familiar though."

"Please tell me it's not some weird form of snake, T," groaned Jack as the big Jaffa bent over the map.

"It is not, O'Neill," he rumbled in a rather bemused manner. "It is not Goa'uld."

"Good."

"It is Galactic Basic."

This earned him one of Jack's best glares. "It's what?"

"Galactic Basic."

"What the hell is that when it's at home?"

Teal'c hesitated. "It is the alphabet used in the films that tell the story of the Galactic Civil War."

The three non-Jaffa inhabitants of the room looked at him blankly. Then Jack finally broke the silence. "I'm going to go back to my original question of: It's what?"

"It is the alphabet used in the films that tell the story of the Galactic Civil War, as recounted by George Lucas."

"You mean Star Wars?" asked an incredulous Sam. "You're kidding!"

"I am not. I have seen A New Hope many times. The writing was clear in several instances there."

There was a rather stunned silence. Then Jack said: "Well, I didn't see that one coming. You sure?"

"I am sure," came the grave answer. "I have seen the first film eight times by myself. Three further times with Master Bra'tac. The writing is visible best when seen from the perspective of Darth Vader's TIE fighter, as he attempts to kill Luke Skywalker."

"Oookay…." drawled Daniel as he raised and lowered his eyebrows. "So, what does it say?"

"I do not know. I will have to consult my reference book," said the Jaffa with a hint of humility.

"You have a Star Wars reference book?" asked Daniel.

"Yes. It is called 'The Big Book Of Star Wars.' It is most illuminating. I shall go to my quarters and bring it back."

"Wait, back up a second there big guy," protested Jack. "Did I hear you say that Bra'tac had seen the film with you?"

"That is correct."

"Okay, here's the question on everyone's lips: why?"

Teal'c smiled gravely. "I wished him to see it because it is a story that has great relevance to our cause – the rebellion by those who are good against a great and evil Empire that destroys entire worlds to subjugate people. Master Bra'tac agreed once he had seen it for the first time. And he is a Raker'Nos."

"Bless you," said Jack absently and then shook his head at their stares. "What? It sounded like a sneeze!"

"Umm… teller of legends?" guessed Daniel.

The Jaffa bowed his head slightly. "Indeed. It is an honourable title in addition to his other roles. It is an aspect to Jaffa leadership that I am only now starting to learn to emulate. He has many stories and legends that he can relate to young Jaffa to teach them of the things that they must know of in life. He has added the Tale of the Galactic Rebellion to them. It has been most beneficial."

Jack directed the kind of look that said that he was in full disbelief mode at the Jaffa. "It's just a film."

"It is a tale of a noble fight against a corrupt and despotic Empire that seeks to control its subjects through fear, intimidation and terror. It is something that speaks to the heart of what the Jaffa Rebellion against the Goa'uld means. Master Bra'tac has agreed that it is a truly fitting story to be told. It has become most popular with the free Jaffa and is told secretly even amongst some of the enslaved Jaffa."

"Well, that's going to piss off George Lucas's lawyers if they ever hear about it," said Jack after a long silence. "Kinda makes sense though. Never seen the films, but I've heard that they're good." He turned to Teal'c. "So Bra'tac tells the story 'round campfires and stuff?"

"Indeed. He is most skilled. I have much to learn from him, but I am able to emulate some of the noises, and use them as an accompaniment to his telling of the story."

This brought Sam's eyebrows up again. "Noises?"

Teal'c hesitated for a moment and then, cupping his hands together, brought them up to his mouth. There was a pause and then he breathed in slowly, in a harsh and laboured metallic rattle of air. It sounded as if Darth Vader was there in the room with them. Just behind them in fact, which was… disturbing. The Jaffa moved his fingers slightly and breathed out. This time it sounded like a lightsabre igniting. Teal'c lowered his hands. "I have been told that I have some skill."

"Yes, indeed you do," said Daniel hastily, feeling distinctly freaked out. "That just sounded… rather too realistic." Then he turned back to the blueprint. "Um, you mentioned the book?"

"Indeed. I will retrieve it now." He turned and left at a dignified but slightly urgent pace, as if he was in a hurry.

After a long moment Jack looked at the others and then cleared his throat quietly. "Does anybody else think that the idea of Bra'tac reciting the story of Star Wars whilst T does the sound effects is, well, a bit freaky?"

Daniel traded a careful glance with Sam and then they both raised their hands.

"Not just me then, good," said Jack, muttering. Then he reached over and plugged in his spare console. "Hey Spacemonkey, want me to kick your butt?"

"Anything to distract me from today's events," Daniel replied.

By the time that Teal'c returned Daniel had shot down Jack twice and was smirking as he placed the console on the table as the Jaffa re-entered the room. He was clutching a large book with the title: My Big Book of Star Wars. He nodded gravely to them and placed it on the table, before flipping carefully through it. It seemed to be rather extensive to Daniel.

After a while he stopped, raised an eyebrow and then quickly flipped the book around to face them. "As I surmised – it is the alphabet used on the plans."

They all leant over to stare at the page, where an explanation was written next to a series of pictures. To one side a series of symbols showed the English version of the odd-looking alphabet. "Interesting," muttered Daniel, "They obviously used characters that were inspired by a number of different pictograms including…" His voice died away as he felt Jack glaring at him. "Yes, well, I can use this to work out what the writing says, if it's anything useful that is. Can you pass that pen, Sam? Thanks. Um…" He started deciphering the strange writing, writing the words that emerged on a piece of paper one letter at a time. Teal'c watched him impassively, whilst Jack tried to get Sam to fly against him, with no success.

"Sir, if General Hammond comes in and sees two senior members of the SGC playing a computer game, I don't think that he'd be very impressed."

"Yes he would, he'd think: 'They've got things so much under control that they can kick back a little.' Come on Carter, live a little. Unless you're scared that I'll win?"

Sam directed a withering gaze at her superior officer and was only saved from saying something sarcastic by Daniel, who was staring down at the paper with some dismay. "Oh… dear. Not good."

This, inevitably, brought in Jack whose eyebrows went up. "Not good? Care to explain?"

Daniel handed the paper over to the Colonel, who read it impassively. "Hum," he said after a moment. "You're right; not good." He turned to look at Sam, who seemed about to explode with curiousity. Teal'c also looked intrigued: his right eyebrow was an eighth of an inch higher than the left. "According to Daniel it reads: 'If you're in the military then if you think that I'd detail the most important part for you then dream on, Sithspit' whatever the hell that means, 'you're going to have to work it out for yourselves. So get busy. Earth needs it, just not right now. One day you'll be ready.'" He lowered the paper. "Unhelpful."

There was a moment of tension and then Sam grabbed it from him with a very unladylike but all too marine-like expletive and stared at it. "Why?" she asked angrily. "Why would someone do that?"

"Whoa there Carter. You heard the… papery thing. Says we're not ready yet."

"Sir, this thing could give us a hell of punch against the Goa'uld, let us fight against them at equal terms on the ground, maybe, if we can get a working weapon, and some… guy… says that we're not ready yet? Bullshit!" She shook her head. "I'm going to make it work!"

"Um… Sam," interjected Daniel, "This – Harris did you say the name was? – says that it's the most important part, so it's hardly something you can jury-rig, is it?"

Samantha Carter picked up the blueprints, grabbed the power cell, threw Jack a hurried salute and stalked out muttering to herself and cutting a blonde, furious, wake through the people in the corridor.

The other three members of SG-1 watched her go. "Guess she has other plans," said Jack. "Anyone wanna play Doom2?"

* * *

"It's not that hard! I mean, all you had to do was enter the same order, not try to second guess what people might or might not be drinking based on two months experience and one fashion craze for Polish vodka! I despair, I really do…" The Host shook his head at the subdued Guido as they looked over the manifest for the evening. The guy was cute, in a Spanish way, if you liked that kind of thing, but he sure wasn't assistant manager material. Okay, he made a mean Seabreeze, but that just meant that he was a barman. Lorne shook his head and sighed. "Okay, okay, let's get this show on the road. If we're short a few bottles we can do a run to one of the local stores. Just make sure that you check any other changes or supply shortfalls out with me first, ok?"

Guido nodded and then moved off to deal with the first customer of the evening, something that had a lot of hair and three eyes. Well, at least the regulars were on time. He just hoped that no one asked for anything really exotic tonight.

The Host adjusted his tie carefully and looked around. The place looked good tonight. He had a good feeling about things.

* * *

By the time that Lindsey got home the rain had stopped. He pushed his suitcase, laptop holder and briefcase into the apartment, tossed the files that he'd picked up from the office onto the kitchen counter as he passed it and sighed. Home. He walked into his bedroom, drew the curtains and then undressed in record time as he headed for the bath. He needed to wash quite badly.

As he immersed himself thought about the events of the past few days. What a wild ride. Then he thought about the files that were waiting for him on the counter. Yuck. Holland had left three cases for his inspection. All were… interesting. Although it depended on your version of 'interesting'.

Case One: The State versus Smith Holdings. Smith being Lionel Smith, a man who owned a large number of factories in various states, all of which drove a tank through various Environmental Protection Agency guidelines. Smith Holdings had left a huge stain through those various states. Literally. Manners wanted him to get Smith and his pack of polluters off.

Case Two: Collins versus Collins. Louisa Collins had finally left her violent, raping, scumbag of a husband and was not only getting divorced but also taking him for everything he had. Robert Collins had been restrained several times during the initial proceedings, for fear that he might hit someone. Sadly, he was also a major contributor to a major Republican Senator who had a vested interest in making sure that as little bad publicity as possible leaked through to his re-election campaign. Holland wanted him to basically win the case by smearing Louisa Collins.

Case Three: The State versus Ortana. Ortana was a company that had a very murky history. For a start it was tied to a number of 'families', not all of whom were human, but all of which were originally from Sicily. They had a habit of squabbling amongst themselves and then seamlessly uniting to deal out terrible retribution to anyone who tried to move in to exploit said squabbling. This included several members of a certain family in New York that he didn't want to think about, because they reminded him of the Addams Family. There had been a clash, there had been casualties and there had been collateral damage, in the form of a number of innocent bystanders. And now Adriano Ortana was on trial for homicide. They could probably get it down to manslaughter, but that wasn't good enough for the Ortanas. Adriano had to get off. Frankly Adriano looked as if someone had cloned Lon Chaney and then thrown away the more presentable bits, and talked like a Navy sailor who had a compulsive desire to swear. But he had to be defended.

Lindsey levered himself out of the bath, pulled a bathrobe on and padded out, rubbing his wet hair with a towel. Dismissing the files with a curl of the lip he walked into the kitchen and pulled out a beer from the fridge, before going back into the lounge to stare out of the window. Somehow life in Sunnydale had been… different. He'd only been there for a few days, but it had felt as if he could improvise more, that he was less hemmed in by the files that surrounded him, by the things that seemed hang over him. By the things that chased him in his dreams. Ok, there were vampires in Sunnydale, and demons. Big deal. What did Wolfram & Hart deal with? Vampires and demons. Ok, Sunnydale had also contained a very large snake that had once been the local Mayor, but he'd been blown to smithereens.

Lindsey took a long pull from the bottle of beer and sighed. He had some files to read. He had a nasty feeling that after he had read them he'd need to wash his hands. And, if it was possible, his eyes and his brain. The taint from those files and the knowledge of what he had to do got everywhere. He paused. It had been a while since he went to Caritas, hadn't it? It wasn't that far… Perhaps he could put off looking at the files until tomorrow. After all, a good bout of singing could clear the brain. And maybe, if the Host read him, he could get a better idea about what he had to do. He had a nasty feeling that something was ahead of him. But he didn't know what.

He sighed and then looked over his shoulder. From here he could just about see into his closet, and catch a glimpse of his guitar. This brought a grimace. Tempting. He hadn't been to Caritas for a while. He shook his head… he had these files to look through.

Two minutes later the door to his flat banged slammed behind him as he strode down the corridor, clutching his guitar and running a hand through his still-wet hair. He'd dressed in record time. Hell, he had to cut loose sometimes, didn't he?

* * *

Lindsey lowered the guitar and basked in the applause. Damn, if it didn't feel good sometimes to have some real appreciation. Humans, vampires and demons were clapping and cheering his rendition of "American Pie", which had had the place rocking. He waved a hand at the crowd and ceded the microphone to something with mandibles, before walking off the stage and looking around for the Host. Surprisingly he wasn't at his usual spot. Instead he was leaning against the bar, looking wan and sinking a large drink that was greener than he was.

"You ok?" asked Lindsey as he approached the demon, who started slightly and then directed a woozy stare at the lawyer.

"Damn," said the Host, "Where do I start? My office, cupcake, while I can still stand."

Somewhat bewildered, Lindsey allowed the Host to shepherd him into his office, where they sat at opposite sides of the desk. The Host sank another green drink and then sighed. "That's better, there's less chance that my brain is going to run out of my ears in search of a drink now."

"You saw something," said Lindsey levelly, girding himself for news.

"Damn right I did, my strumming friend. I just don't know if you're ready for it." He paused, obviously thinking deeply. "Remember when you came in here a few months back? You were called out just after you finished singing, so I wasn't able to talk to you. I probably couldn't," he grimaced, "As I was busy being stunned. Well, it's still there."

He paused again before leaning forwards. "Something's changed within you. You know that. The only problem is, I'm not the person to tell you what it is. You've met him already, that's all I can tell you. And you're going to have to make a choice at some point. That being real soon. The kind of choice that changes your life and takes you down a new road, to a place that you didn't see coming."

Eyes wide, Lindsey stared at the Host. The demon's normal bantering tone had gone and he was speaking with an earnest seriousness that impressed him more than anything else. "What's going on with me?" he asked eventually.

"You already have all the pieces. You just need a push. You're going back to Sunnydale. You know who you have to ask."

Baffled, Lindsey leant forwards. "I don't understand. Talk to who? About what?"

The Host stood up. "I'd better get out there. Fortunately Agrajag can make "Everything I do" last an age and a half. You felt something in Sunnydale, didn't you?"

"I think so, but I have no idea what."

"The Force is with you," smiled the Host. "Gotta go. Good luck, kid." He swept out, leaving a still-baffled lawyer.

"What the hell is he talking about?"

* * *

It was a warm night and Greg was hungry as he crossed the road. He felt the need for some Chinese, maybe, or perhaps some Indian. It all depended on if there were any Chinese or Indian people in the area. If not, then he'd make do with whatever turned up. That was the best thing about living in a town so close to LA – you had all kinds of people drifting through, people who weren't missed for ages if you were lucky. He paused. It had been a while since he'd tried that motel on Hamilton. He'd been quite lucky there in the past. Food and money, what a great combination. He grinned and walked on.

Five minutes later he was standing on the sidewalk opposite the motel. There were a few lights on, so less chance of the noise being picked up. Not that he made much – the whole point was to grab, knock out and run, to have fun later on. He liked playing with his food sometimes. He stopped. He could hear steps off to one side and he turned to look. A short red-haired kid was walking down the sidewalk towards him, obviously headed for the motel, carrying a back of groceries in one hand. Greg grinned. This was going to be easy. He turned, put his hands in his pockets and slouched along the sidewalk himself, judging the distance carefully. As the kid passed him he span, his hands going out to grab the kid's head and snap his neck with a twist, when…

There was a blur where the kid had been, a buzz and a flash of green light…

Greg blinked at the stubs where his hands used to be. Something felt wrong with his neck as well. As if he had been hit… "Oh damn," he said, just before his head fell off and his body left a deposit of dust on the sidewalk.

* * *

Oz let himself into the room and put the groceries down carefully on the table. "Ok, who wanted what?"

"Ooh! Oreos here!" squeaked Willow, darting up. She stared at his sleeve. "Oz, baby, why are you covered in dust?"

"We almost had a visitor. He would have been unfriendly. Gone now." He rummaged in the bag. "Twinkie?"

"Here!" called Buffy, reaching up to snatch it from the air as he tossed it at her.

"And a chicken fajita for me?" asked Xander, as he stood by the phone, listening intently. Then he raised a hand. "Answer phone. Here we go. Hey Doyle it's Xander. I'm going to be in town with a few friends tomorrow. We're going to Caritas. See you there. Here's a number you can get us on." He reeled off Buffy's cellphone number and then hung up. "It'll be good to see him again. I hope he worked out his problems. And Buffy, he's half Bracken demon, don't forget, so he's good."

Rolling her eyes, Buffy grinned at him. "Duh, he was the guy at the shelter, right? I remember seeing him. He had those blankets out for everyone. Nice of him." Then she looked at her friend seriously. "You sure you want to do this? Look at the future with some green guy?"

This brought a deep sigh from the Jedi. "Yes. I think I have to." He grinned suddenly. "Why, are you scared of my singing voice?"

"A singing Jedi," mused Buffy, as she munched on her Twinkie. "Nah, take more than that to scare me."

* * *

Holland finished jotting notes and then looked up. "Good, keep at them. Threaten their families if you have to. Lee, what the situation with the Luscombe case?"

Leaning forwards, Lee Manners grimaced slightly. "Not too good. The DA refuses to talk to us – he thinks that he can win this one. He has at least two good witnesses that he's sitting on. We don't know who they are or where they're staying, which makes it difficult for us. Hopefully we can pry some information out of one of his people before the trial starts so that we can put some pressure on them, but it's not looking good."

"What's the DA pushing for?"

"The death penalty."

"Minimum sentence?"

"The judge assigned is Dredd. No deals possible unless the DA backs off. Minimum? Death."

Holland tapped his pen thoughtfully. "Tricky… well, we can always break a few minds open if we need to. I'll have a word with Special Operations. Next, Lilah – how's the Sullivan case going?"

As Lilah talked about the case she was dealing with Lindsey closed off part of his mind, absorbing the information absent-mindedly whilst he thought about other things. Namely what the Host had said. It made no sense. What was that about? What had he sensed on the Hellmouth? It was starting to worry him now. Which was both a good thing and a bad thing. He paused for a moment, wondering what he was going to do about it. More research on Harris, probably. He was missing something, he could tell. Then he dragged his attention back to the room, where Lilah was winding up.

"… we can probably settle for an acquittal along with costs. If we really turn the screws then we can get him off without a stain on his character and so on. We'd better recommend that his father keeps him on a tight leash for the near future though."

She looked up from her notes. "And there's been movement on the Killick case. I think that we can file a motion to dismiss, based on the witness list and how the DA scared them up from nowhere. I'm going to file the motion with Judge Dansey tonight. He might be amenable. He mentioned that he'd like to have a word with me anyway about procedures during the case."

Holland nodded and moved on to young Sarah Cho, who looked about 15 years old, but who had a heart as black as the third circle of hell. Lindsey looked around the table quickly. What a collection. The ambitious, the cynical and the downright twisted, all working for an evil law firm.

As the meeting broke up, Holland called him back. Avoiding Lilah's dark gaze he turned and walked back into the room. Holland was writing up some notes, before looking up with a smile and gesturing to a chair next to him.

"Lindsey. Well done with the Wilkins affair in Sunnydale. The Senior Partners have been informed and they're most impressed."

"I… didn't do much sir, the Slayers did the bulk of the work."

"Dealing with Wilkins wasn't what I was talking about, Lindsey. You were able to provide us with information about what he was doing. If he had broken out then we would have had assets in place to take care of him outside the Hellmouth. The tactical team was nothing more than a pawn on the board. So, well done. Plus, you were able to find a good location in Sunnydale for an office."

He smiled. "Which is what I wanted to talk to you about. We will go ahead and set up a branch of Wolfram & Hart in Sunnydale. It's too good an opportunity to miss. Bob Rove is going to be in charge, but he's been asking after you as a key asset for the office. I told him that I'd talk to you about it. It would be a significant step up, Lindsey – it wouldn't be departmental status, but you'd have a high profile and be in a good position to be able to take over, say, my position when I move on up."

Lindsey just stared at him, stunned. "Thank you sir, but…"

Holland raised a hand. "It's a bit much? Don't give an instant answer. Think about it. It's not without its risks. You mentioned what the Watcher said. I'm sure that we can block the Watcher's Council. And living on a hellmouth is risky in itself. There have been… problems… with previous offices on such places. But as I said, think it over."

* * *

"Wow. Demons agogo," breathed Buffy as they walked in through the doorway and looked around. The place was busy, with humanoids of all kind busy milling about the place. Some were hanging around, literally from the back of their chairs. Others were removing coats and stretching hidden limbs and other objects. Xander could see at least one set of wings being rustled. And then there were the humans, all of whom seemed perfectly at home at this kind of display of non-humanity.

"Cool," was the verdict from Oz. "Balance."

"Will I have to do any, you know, slaying here?" whispered Buffy during a break in the music. "Because I wouldn't know where to start. Apart from the vamps here. Much on the vamps here." She paused. A vampire was staring at her, with a sickly expression on his face. When he noticed her looking back, he smiled weakly, dropped something on the floor and bent down to retrieve it, using the table as cover to crawl away. "Wow, I'm doing good things here already."

There was a flash of red and then the Host was stepping down from the stage, where he had been introducing the next singer, a pink that thing that did not look in the least bit fluffy. He flicked a salute to the crowd, picked up a drink from a passing waiter and then caught sight of Xander. Pausing, his eyes wide, he then swept on through the crowd to where the quartet were standing.

"What is this, a Jedi convention? Hey there, Kenobi-kins, how's it going? I've seen the apprentice and the Slayer before. Well, sorta. Hard to describe how I know people just through a vision via someone else. Hi, I'm the Host. Welcome to Caritas. Please don't try and slay anyone tonight, there's a non-violence spell on the place and I'd rather not explain how it works. Magic gives me a headache sometimes."

As he escorted them to a table, Xander noted with some amusement the reaction of the vampires in the crowd. Some blanched, some whispered violently to their neighbours and at least one stood up and left hurriedly.

"Table for four, or will more be joining you?" asked the Host, also watching the vampire reaction wryly. "Hey, don't scare them all off. I have to pay the bills with this place."

Buffy sat down primly and batted her eyelashes at him. "Who'd be scared of little old me?" she asked, looking as if butter wouldn't melt in her mouth.

"Honey, in that dress you're the only Slayer in town. Please warn me if you're going to be singing tonight, I've never read a Slayer before, and I think I'll need some bracing beforehand. The last time I read young Xander here, I had to have a lie down afterwards. Of course the vodka I sank had something to do with it as well."

This threw Buffy slightly. "No singing from me," she said after opening and closing her mouth once or twice. "I never really thought about it. But I don't sing that much and besides, with the whole being a Slayer thing, I think I know that my future holds lots of gloopy icky things that I'd rather not know about."

This sobered the Host slightly. "It doesn't always work like that," he said quietly, "But sometimes it lets you have a quick glance ahead. It depends. For Obi-Xander here I had a few glimpses of his Padawans, and the piece he needed for a lightsabre. Which," he said, poking at the lump in Xander's jacket, "I can see that he built." He looked back at Buffy. "You sure cupcake?"

Buffy looked down at the table for a long moment. Then her head came back up again with a look of vague longing. "No thanks," she said softly, "Part of the whole 'chosen one thing' is that I don't want to look too far ahead down the road. I want to have the normal parts of my life without something like when it's going to end hanging over me." She sounded, well, very un-Buffy, and Xander traded a quick startled look with Oz. The Slayer sounded tired.

The Host looked at her with a great deal of sympathy. "Honey, it's ok," he said, patting her hand absent-mindedly. "Sometimes not all of us want to take a look. Some people don't want to look over the horizon. Others, well, they think they're storing up karma in a big way. Don't worry about it. Tell you the truth, I'm kinda glad about it. Reading a pair of Jedi-" he dropped his voice for the last word, but didn't glance over his shoulder suspiciously or place his hand next to his mouth, "Is going to be bad enough. I have Guido on call with a Seabreeze or two that should keep my brains in place." He paused and then patted Buffy's hand again. "Hold that thought. Back in a jiffy." Standing up the demon walked off to the bar, where they could see him talking to the barman, who nodded abruptly and then started mixing something from a selection of coloured bottles. After a few minutes the Host returned with a large drink. It looked, well, green. With swirly orange bits.

"Here you go, honey, my treat," said the Host as he placed it in front of the Slayer. "Don't worry, it isn't alcoholic. It's just a combination of fruit juices and herbs. All on the level. Try a sip, it puts a zing in anyone's step."

Directing a very sceptical gaze at the Host, Buffy cautiously sipped at the drink. Then she brightened visibly and took a larger sip. "Yummy!" she said. "That's good!"

"Guido calls it a fruit explosion. I think the name needs some work."

"Very yummy," said Buffy. Then she looked over at Willow. "You want to try singing, Wills?"

This brought a start of horror from Xander's oldest living friend. "Um. Um, no. It would be bad. Me, in front of everyone here? No, that would be bad. Hard to breathe bad. Besides? Me and singing? Not a good combination. Horrible squeakiness."

"Christmas play. 1991." said Xander tonelessly, and Willow flinched visibly, closed her eyes and nodded sadly.

"Mrs Grant never played the piano for us again," she said morosely.

"Honey, no one's that bad," said the host in sceptical tones. In response she looked at him with big eyes and then hummed a quick scale. It sounded like a ferret trapped with a kazoo down a valley. The Host did his own flinching. "On second thoughts, Red, you're the exception to the rule. Please enjoy yourself tonight, and please don't sing. Or hum. Or whistle." He stood up again and gestured at the stage. "Well, if you two want to take your places in the queue, then follow me."

As they walked towards the microphone, the Host paused. "Hang on a sec, Kenobi-kins. You too Padawan. You're seeing her, right?" Oz nodded. "Well, keep an eye on her. She's powerful. Very powerful, kid. But she needs to learn the whole Spiderman shtick. Great power, great responsibility. She's going to increase in power slowly, but sooner or later, she's going to have a problem. Keep an eye on her, both of you. She's got enough to save the world. Or blow us all to smithereens, and I prefer to remain unsmithereened, thanks." He gestured at the stage. "On you go, kids. Who's first?"

Xander and Oz exchanged another glance, this time thoughtfully. Tonight was just chock-full of interesting information so far. Buffy was tired and Willow was a potential worry. What next? Xander shuddered slightly. Did they really want to go through with this. Then he nodded at Oz, who nodded back. "I'll go," said his former Padawan.

"Ok, my Naired wolfy-kins, stand up and do your thing after Gerald finishes murdering his song. I don't know about doing anything for love, but I'd love it if he stopped real soon. Shame about what's going to happen to his leg. I need to tell him to avoid that trap, but I don't think he's much for listening." The Host waved at the bar, where the barman stopped what he was doing and started to mix something from an impressively large number of bottles. "A little something to settle my nerves. I'll be over there," he said and walked off to sink into a large chair. He looked a bit harassed.

As Oz walked off to the stage, Xander caught sight of a familiar figure walking through the entrance, and waved. The figure waved back, grabbed a beer from the bar and walked over.

"Hey there, Xander, how's life been treatin' you?" asked Doyle, chugging down a large part of the bottle of beer as he did. He looked tired but the faint air of jumpiness that had been hanging over him the last time that they had met was gone. Instead he looked alert and focussed. He also had a band-aid over his knuckles. Doyle followed Xander's gaze and chuckled. "Little altercation with a demon. Had to go Bracken to take care of it. Did the job though." He looked around the bar. "Place is jumpin' tonight. Did the Slayer come with you? You said that she was in town with you."

"She's over there," said Xander, pointing her out.

Doyle peered at the blonde and chugged the rest of his beer. "That's better. I had a hell of a thirst on me. She looks better than last year. 'Course anyone would look better now after being in a hell dimension. She ok after that?"

"A bit wobbly, but we fixed a few things. We took out the local Mayor a few weeks back. He was trying to turn himself into an Old One. Had everyone running around. Including a lawyer from Wolfram & Hart. You heard of them here?"

"Those bastards? Yeah. Rumour has it they have a finger in every bad bit of business that goes down here in LA. Not to be trusted. As if you can ever trust a lawyer that is." He turned and requested another beer from a passing barman, who nodded and scurried off. Xander stared at his legs. He wasn't sure how many he had.

"Grajug demon. Harmless. Just the two legs, but it looks more. Great fellas for bar work." His friend paused. "A few weeks back the lawyers were in the middle of a major panic. Called in everyone. That linked to that mayor thing?"

"Probably. They could only send one lawyer into Sunnydale though, thanks to a deal they signed with the Mayor. Guy called Lindsey McDonald."

Doyle paused in the act of lifting his second beer to his lips. "Texan guy? Plays the guitar? Sulky-looking fella?"

"Yes on all counts. You know him?"

"He sings in here. Funny thing is, the Host was knocked on his back by something he saw in the fella's aura or whatever it was. He told him something, but I don't know what."

No, thought Xander, musingly, but I think that I can guess. I think that I have found my second Padawan. Hell of place to find him, but perhaps I can turn him away from the dark side. But what else was out there? He looked up at the stage, where Oz was standing at the microphone, obviously thinking about what to sing.

"Calon Lan," said the other Jedi into the microphone, and then he started to sing.

* * *

When Oz had finished singing it seemed as if there wasn't a dry eye in the place and even the Host was wiping at least one eye.

"Kid," he said, as Oz stepped down from the stage, "That was great. Sad as hell, but great. There's a vampire over there who's sobbing into his beer over how he never got to say goodbye to his mother. Terrific." He paused and beckoned him to one side.

"Ok, here's what I saw. You've come a long way. And you're a Jedi who'd rather talk than fight sometimes. Consular is the right word? Ok. But you're wondering about what else you want to do. Simple answer – teach. And heal, when you need to. I see medicine ahead, as well as lightsabres. There's a lot out there that needs to be done. There's a lot of fighting ahead, there's no way around that, as you know. But yes, there's a lot of good you can do. A lot of things that you can prevent. Kenobi-kins is the general, but you're more the diplomat. Go to it, kid. There, that wasn't too hard, was it? I need another Seabreeze though, as there goes Xanderoonie."

Oz nodded slowly and then looked up. There was Xander, as he strode to the microphone. He paused to adjust it up to his height and then looked around the club. "Talk To Me," he said, and then started to sing.

As the first notes hit, the Host closed his eyes and then flinched. Oz did some flinching of his own. He had a feeling that Xander's viewing would be more stressful than his own.

* * *

The Host was waiting for him when Xander left the stage. He wasn't pale, by his standards, but he did look a bit pinched around the eyes. "Nice song," he said, clutching at his multi-coloured drink and taking a determined sip at it. "That's better. Ok, kid, you want the full Monty? I don't know why I keep saying that, some cockney guy said it the other day and now I use it all the time."

"The what?"

"The low-down. The information you came here for?"

Xander paused. This was what he had came for after all. The question was, what was it? Did he really want to take that step to look into his future? He shook his head mentally. That was a foolish question. There could be no doubt on this point. He had to know. A Jedi faced the future without flinching, without turning away from his duty. He had to know what lay ahead.

"Yes. I need to know."

"Ok. There are more of you out there, kid. More Jedi. More than you think. And yes, the tiny Texan is one of them. You've met Lindsey McDonald, right? I've seen it. He's the second Padawan. He'll come to you by the way. But there are more, like I said. And it's going to be up to you to bring them together. I wouldn't go as far to say Jedi Order, but certainly Jedi Council. Because there are things out there that need fighting. Enemies at home and, let's say, further afield. A lot further away than you've dreamed of kid. Not quite in a galaxy far, far away, but closer to home than that. And you're going to need help."

Xander stood there, his mind racing. It was a lot to take in at once and he needed some time to think it all over. But he needed everything first.

"How much can you tell me?"

"Step into my office and I'll tell you as much as I can kid," said the Host grimly. "I need to. Remember my comment earlier? I want to remain unsmithereened."

* * *

Judge Dansey sat there on his damn chair and looked over the papers that had been submitted with what Lilah thought was painful slowness. After a while he sat back and pondered visibly. Hurry up, you old bastard, she thought, hurry up. I'll die of old age at this rate.

After a long moment he looked up at her. "You seem to be rather annoyed, Ms Morgan," he said dryly. "Have I said something to cause offence?"

You're an old fart who deserves to die for wasting my time, thought Lilah, but then shook her head. "Of course not, your honour. I was just admiring the view." And wondering how you knew that I was annoyed, she added in the privacy of her own head. How odd.

Judge Dansey looked at her as if he knew that she was lying through her teeth and then smiled briefly. "Of course you were," he said with a sarcastic edge to his voice, before going back to looking at the papers in front of him. Judging by the slowness that he was taking to get through the document, he was reading at five words a minute, she guessed.

At least she'd been able to get Sullivan off. Harkness had been shaken up by whatever had happened to him, and she'd been able to get the witnesses to admit that they had a few doubts about what they'd see. It was too dark, too rainy, too noisy, they'd been distracted by other things, the list was endless and had just gone to show that it was possible to blur the collective mid of a jury with a little care and attention to detail. She might even get a 'well done' from Holland.

Irritation started to give way to anger within her. Holland Manners had been talking about sending McDonald to Sunnydale. That little bastard. She deserved that post – she'd done most of the best work in the office whilst that short-assed Texan had been sunning himself in other places. Ok, so he'd been there to help take Wilkins down, but by his own account the Slayers had done the actual work.

She stared at the Judge and did her best not to pout. Why the hell had he called her in here? What was taking him so long to read what was a basic motion to dismiss for the Killick case? Was he actually slowing down? And he'd been sarcastic to her. She wanted to stand up and storm out, but that was something you didn't do to Dansey. He was known as a tough judge who ruled a courtroom with a razor-sharp tongue.

As if he could read her feelings, Dansey looked up from the brief. "Tell your secretary to learn to spell. 'Application' has just one 'l' not two." He bent his head again and slowly turned a page.

Outrage warred with fury with Lilah. How dare this son of a bitch? She stared at him, trying to imagine what it would be like if Dansey suddenly came down with whatever the hell Harkness had been hit by. Unfortunately Dansey just sat there.

And then he looked up, his eyes gleaming. Just for a second she could have sworn that there was a hint of red in his eyes. She must have imagined it. He seemed very amused by something.

"My, my," he said softly, "You are a feisty one, aren't you? A lot of anger there, my dear. A great deal of anger."

"I'm sorry, I don't know what you're talking about," she protested, frowning slightly. How had he picked up on that? She'd been careful not to show anything, either in her voice, her face or in her body language.

"Don't play games with me," he said, leaning back in his chair and dropping the papers onto his desk. "By the way, motion to dismiss is denied. Tell Wolfram & Hart to stop whining and do a deal," he said with a sneer. She looked at him carefully. He wasn't acting like he normally did.

"Not that I'm surprised," he went on, steepling his fingers. "Wolfram & Hart can be very blind at times. The belief of the Senior Partners that they know everything is rather… incorrect."

Lilah kept her face smooth. How the hell did he know about the Senior Partners? What the hell was going on here?

"If the motion is rejected, then I'd better be going," she said smoothly, standing up and tucking her purse under her arm. As she turned to go, the inner doors leading to the closed outer doors of the office slammed with a suddenness that made her jump despite herself. The thing was, she didn't know how they had closed. No one was next to them. There were no wires or anything else that could be used.

Turning she looked back at Dansey, who was smiling at her coldly. "Sit down," he said, gesturing with one hand as her chair turned to face her with a jerk.

"I see you know some magic," she said with a brittle smile as she turned the chair back to face him and then sat down. "I'd advise against threatening me. That has been known to backfire. What do you want?"

"A chat," purred Dansey, his eyes hooded as he looked at her. "But not about magic, which is a foolish waste of time and effort. Too many links to the earth, too much ritual and time-wasting chants. Too many appeals to insane or dying gods. No," he said, waving his hand again and looking down as her motion to dismiss balled itself up and then flew through the air into the waste bin, "This isn't anything as hit and miss as magic. This is something else. This is another power."

She stared at him, assessing his attitude. He looked calm, collected and in control. Interesting. "I'm sure that the Senior Partners would disagree with you," she said.

"The Senior Partners are a group of high-level demons with parallel or competing agendas and a taste for blood and complicated plans based around revenge that have diverted them for years," said Dansey, smiling at her. The smile was confined to his mouth and did not reach his eyes. "They have no idea about this. They never have. They are tied to their own magicks and they are… blind."

"Then why tell me? What's the point of this talk?"

He looked at her. "What happened to that soft-minded idiot Harkness the other day? During the Sullivan case? I heard that he had trouble breathing?"

"He had some kind of seizure. Didn't last long," she said, looking at her nails. Then she looked up. "Why?"

This brought her another smile, as Dansey chuckled softly. "You really have no idea, do you?"

She was close to losing her temper again. "No idea of what?"

"You have potential, Morgan."

"Potential for what?"

"This," he said and lifted his right hand up in a pinching, claw-like gesture. She stared at him, about to repeat her question, when something invisible clamped itself around her throat and squeezed hard. Her hands went up to her throat, but there was nothing there, nothing to pull off her and she couldn't breathe, she couldn't take a breath of air, she couldn't… the clamp vanished and she took a deep, shuddering gulp of air, before rubbing her neck carefully. Then she glared at Dansey, who was actually smirking at her.

"What… what was that?"

"That, my dear Lilah, is what you did to Harkness. I said that you had potential. Anger management issues as well, but we can work on that."

This was nuts. She froze in place. "I did what?"

"You did that to Harkness. I could feel your anger on the other side of the building. Almost stabbed my hand with my pen. Very impressive, by the way. Probably a good thing that you didn't kill him, although the autopsy would have concluded that he had asthma or something, and smashed his own throat. People often come to the wrong conclusions. It can be amusing to watch them tie themselves in logical knots as they come to those wrong conclusions sometimes."

Still rubbing her throat she leant back I her chair. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Yes you do. You were angry, remember. Very angry. Just as you were angry a little while ago, when I was deliberately taking an age to read that motion to dismiss. I was trying to bait you. I succeeded. Your little attack on me was pathetic, but would have affected someone else." He smiled again. "Like Harkness."

Lilah froze in her chair. Dansey hadn't been in that courtroom. How had he known? How had he obstructed her breathing? What was going on? "I did that?" she said, disbelievingly. "How, when I don't know what I did?"

"Potential," he said, drawing the word out. "You seem to have some. Stronger than the last person I found. Anger is the key. You got angry and triggered it without knowing. It was weak and rather formless, but it was there." He stood up, a black figure in his robes, and walked to the window. "I was impressed. Now, if you can use it, you might be able to do something with it. I have." He chuckled again. "I have plans of my own, and I'm strong in the power."

"What… is the power?" she asked after a long moment.

He shrugged. "I'm not sure. It can make you move faster and hide sometimes. It can cloud the mind of those with weak brains. It's not magic, it's something else. It's everywhere, if you can see it. I was briefly taught by my grandfather. He had some old book that mentioned a sect that was destroyed centuries ago, which knew a lot more about it. Most of its teachings were burnt or buried at about the same time that the Templars were being persecuted. No connection by the way." He looked at her, shrewdly. "Very few people can use it. The last one I met was…. weak. Couldn't see the best use for it."

"Which is?" asked Lilah, a flicker of excitement sparking deep inside her.

"Why, the pursuit of power. What else is there? The ability to kill your enemies and use their bodies to build a platform to power." He spat the last word with a hiss, and for a moment she thought that the red gleam returned to his eyes.

Dansey walked back to his desk and sat down. "For those who want the right things in life, it can offer everything. If they are ready to learn."

Her head was whirling. "Are you offering to teach me?"

"Only if you're willing to learn. I don't teach spineless fools who won't listen. Not that I think you're one of those fools. I've been keeping an eye on you for some time now, Lilah. I think that you're being held back by Wolfram & Hart. I think that you're under-appreciated by them. Especially Manners. He always did like to play favourites."

This brought up the thought of Manners and McDonald at her feet, clutching at their throats while she squeezed the life out them. "Why me?" she asked again, her mind racing.

"You're the strongest one that I've found in years."

"What about the last person you found?"

"He was weak. So I killed him."

She looked at him. She felt as if something was opening up before her, something that glittered with power. She thought of the lightsabre and what she could do with it and this power. There was only one answer she could give.

"Teach me."

* * *

For once the smog over LA had rolled back enough to see the mountains, but Xander wasn't looking at them as the sun came up. He was standing on the beach looking out at the sea. It was going to be a beautiful day. It would be nice to hit the sights while they were here. Buffy needed a holiday and it would do them all good to unwind. Because at the moment he could see a lot ahead of them. A lot of work. A lot of danger. From what the Host had said there were perils aplenty on the horizon. Demons, monsters and snakes, oh my!

He sighed. A lot to do. And he had a decision to think over. He paused. Someone was approaching behind. He smiled. "Morning, Oz."

"Hey." His fellow Jedi Knight joined him. "Nice view."

"Yup."

"Willow and Buffy are worried about you. So was Doyle. You were very quiet."

"Had a lot to mull. Much mulling."

"About?"

"What to do next. You're all off to College. I'm not. What next?"

"Good question. Any decision?"

"Yes." He hesitated. "Two of them. I'm going to take up Giles' offer to work for the Council. Or rather for him. Faith and Buffy need help, you know that."

"I know," sighed Oz. "So does Willow. I have to be there for her. Spiderman gig is a hard one." He looked at Xander, squinting in the early morning sunlight. "What's the other one?"

Oh boy. This was the hard part to explain. "Based on what the Host told me, we've got some hard times ahead. And there are others like us out there. Jedi."

"The lawyer?"

"And others. We're going to be needed, Oz. We all are. The Jedi teachings I gave you protect you from wolf boy. I think that Lindsey McDonald can be pulled back from the Dark Side. Who knows what else is out there? We can make a difference. We can help people. Fight evil. Use the Force for good."

He turned to face his old Padawan. "Oz, Earth needs the Jedi. We have a duty to help this planet. And I think that our task is to make sure that we fight the good fight, to make sure that people don't go down into the night without a struggle, to fight against what is evil and corrupt and violent in this world. We both knew that anyway. But we need to spread the word. There are other Jedi out there and we have to find them, somehow. It might take ages, but we can do that and help keep the Hellmouth at bay."

There was a pause while Oz did his own mulling. "You're talking about building the Jedi Order on Earth."

"Maybe just resurrecting the Jedi Council here. Who knows? But if we don't I'm afraid that a long night will fall on all of us. The Host told me a few things that he'd seen. I think that we're all going to have a lot to think about in the next few years."

He looked back out to sea. "What we sensed in the sky the other day was a part of that. We dodged a bullet there I think. But the Force was with us. We have to decide to step forwards and build something here."

Oz grinned. "More Jedi on the Hellmouth? How do you think the vampires are going to handle that?"

"Badly, I suspect. What do you think?"

"I think you knew how I'd answer that, Obi-Wan. I'm in."

They shook on it as the sun rose. "The Force is with us."


End file.
